THE SILVEE HEAD 



THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



COMEDIES 



LAUGHTON OSBORN 




NEW YORK 
DOOLADY PUBLISHER 

448 BROOME STREET 
186T 



O 



.04- S^ 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 186T, by 

LAUGHTON OSBORN, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the 
Southern District of New Yorli. 



ALVOED, PRINTBR. 



THE SILVER HEAD 



MDCCCXLV 



CHARACTERS 

Sir Henkt Feegusox, formerly a Colonel in the British 

Army, — having living with him the children 

of a deceased brother and sister, whom, he 

has adopted. 
Manfeed, ] 
^ V his nephews, sons of his deceased brother. 

OSOAE, j ^ ^ 

Theodoee Vincent, friend of IJanfred. 
Maek Mattison, father of Helen. 
RicHAED, his son. 

Meddleham, a distant kinsman of the yoiing Fergusons by 
their mother^ s side, and, in the same icay, of 
the Mattisons. 

Helen, a poor girl, beloved of Manfred. 

Sybil Veenon, a young icidoio, orphan niece of Sir Henry, 

through a sister. 
Saffise, a Creole from Neio Orleans; a casual acqiiaintavce 

of Helen's, and, in secret, the inistreM of 
Oscar Ferguson. 



Scene. Baltimore. 

Time. Tliat occupied in the representation. 



THE SILTEE HEAD 



Act the First 

Scene I. A Parlor in the lioxisc of Sir Henry. 

Enter^ Manfred and Oscar. 

Osc. Now, b J my soul ! — which, praised be Heaven ! is not 
Like yours, poetic and most righteous 'Fred, 
Made of the willow, swaying with all winds, 
Though 'twere a breath too light the veil to crimple 

That wantons with the lips you dare not 

Mavf. Ilnsh! — 
Yet is not broken by the strongest storm 
That splits your heart of oak — 

Osc. Splits ! Prythee, how ? 
Feel here [striking his ireast.] — 'T is not your mis- 
tress' breast — Now God 
Forbid! you 'd faint if 't were — ha, ha! — Does tliis 
[striMng it again heartily. 
Sound like a riven heart, or, 'faith, like one 



THE SILVER HEAD 



That anything is like to rive? — at least 
Anything driven with a feather's impulse, 
Like woman's pithless and unweighable love — 

A woman's too, that 

Man/. Brother Oscar, peace ! 
Your jests are scurril, and I like them not. 
Osc. Prodigious! 'Tis exceeding rare, no doubt, 

For men to wince, when, edg'd to do them good, 
The surgeon's scalpel — scurril would you call it? 
Bites to the quick ! eh ! 

Man/. "Well, well, well! Have done. 
Your willows and your knives, prosaic sage. 
Have swept and cut your purpose off. 

Osc. That 's true. 
"We come of a poetic race, you know ; 
Our grandsire rhym'd — as you do ; but my vein 
Is good sound satire, not a lover's whine. 

Enter Vincent. 

Vin. "When satire serves to point the sting of spleen. 
Or give an edge to envy, nobler far 
It is, I deem, to be the weakest lover 

Osc. That splutters fustian when he's half seas over. — 
There 's a rhyme for you ; and, as one can't be 
Long in your presence or my brother's here. 
And not be made to love the Muse, or muse, 
I '11 give you, sir, another, which is this : 
'' T were folly to he icise, tohere folly 's hliss. 
You 've heard the sense before ; but, if you choose. 



ACT I. SC. 1. 7 

May have a variation : — thus it reads : 

He most fears satire, who its lash most needs. 

Manf. Brother! — Dear Vincent! Oscar, well you know 

Osc. Never likes meddling. 

Vine. And so little likes 
His brother's friend, that even his uncle's house 
Is no protection from unmanner'd spleen. 

[Oscar hoips lota to Yinccvt. 
Manf. Peace! you are both my friends [taking a hand cf 

eacK\ ; why should you jar ? 

Osc. Because 

Manf. You rogue ! 't is but a trick, I see. 
To put me by. Come on: what did you mean 
By thanking Heaven your soul was not as mine? 
Osc. [shrugging Ms shoulders.'] 'Faith, that it sav'd my feet 

from getting wet. 
Vin. [significantly.'] Truth without flaw, though in false 

quibbling set. 
Osc. Did I not tell you, brother Manfred ? See ! 
Your presence is contagious. I '11 withdraw, 
To — ponder well the truth without a flare. 

[with deep expression., looking full on Vincent^ 
and howing tery loir. 
Manf. [arresting him as he is going.'] Yes, but you don't 
escape me in this wise. 
Since we all rhyme, why here the question lies : 

[laughingly., — in a well-meant effort to Tceep 
peace hetween 0. and V. 
What lacks to make the adjuration whole, 



THE SILVER HEAD 



You even now began? "Now, by ray soul!" — 

'T was thus you swore, then talk'd about a " willow I" 

Oic. As the Moor's bride, ere fell on her the pillow. 

[Changing his manner.] I '11 tell you, Manfred. Thus 

I would have said : 
Now, by my soul, you are the veriest ass 
That ever thistle brows'd for wholesome grain. 
Occasion courts you, and you turn your back ; 
Love woos you, and you smite him on the cheek ; 
Like Duncan's doom'd assassin, in the play, 
"Letting I dare not wait upon I would.'''' 

Vin. Where Conscience says I dare not, and I would 
Is Passion's voice, to fear 's the braver part. 
Be, Manfred, still that honest ass, and prize 
The lawful thistle more than stolen grain. 

Ose. Sage maxim-dealer — maker you are not. 

Or else past ages borrow 'd from your books, — 
I might have reckon'd on your tongue. Enough ! 
Manfred, there 's Helen waits you, with her eyes 
That light to opening Paradise ; and here — 
Is Solomon, whom moderns Vincent call. Now choose. 
But, by my soul, which, I thank Heaven again 
Melts not like yours, you 'd better quickly choose, 
Ere I leap Eden for you ! 

Man/. You dare not ! — 

Osc. Pshaw ! care not ; and Saffise contents me still. 
I meant to play the Devil but for your good. 

Vin. Manfred! [sadbj.] I hope What is this Eve? 

Osc. [hiting his lips with vexation.] Indeed? 



ACT I. SC. 1. y 

Plague on 't ! I thought this meddler knew. Qood- 

day [to Vin.] : 
Some day, sir, you and I may talk apart, [retirinr/.] 
Vin. That 's as you please. [Exit Oscar.] 

Man/. Brother ! for shame ! — He 's gone. 
You will not quarrel? [anxiously to Vincent. 

Promise me. [talcing both his hands.] 
Vin. Fear not : 
Not of my will. But, Manfred, was this well ? 
A secret of such import ? — Was my heart 

Less fit to trust to ? 

Manf. Than a hrother's? No : 
And your head fitter. Not to him — though well, 
I deem, he loves me, [Vin. shrugs his shotdders in- 
credulously. Manf. has his eyes cast down 
and does not observe the movement. 
did I bare my heart : 
He found my folly out I know not how. 
And you — how could I brook your censure, face 

Your laugh ? 

Vin. Can this be possible? [talcing gently his 
hand.] J/// laugh? [Manf. 
holes upfranUy and confidingly. 
Manf [pressing his hand.] Forgive me; T was wrong; I 
should remember 
Your pleasantry is never for the sad, ' 
Nor your wit pointed at your friends. And yet 

[hesitating. 

Vin. And yet? 



10 THE SILVER HEAD 



Manf. Your rule of duty is so stern ! 

This folly, of a kind How grave you look! 

Hear me at once : hear all. 

A few days back, 
My cousin Yernon's period to mourn 
For her dead lord expired, and she must needs, 
So custom and our uncle will'd, do off 
Her weeds of wo, to the last shade of black, 
"With each month lessening, fashion still had left them. 
Most women of her station, figure, youth, 
Would straight have driven to the gayest shrine 
Of Fashion's gayest priestess, there to assume 
Her votaries' newest mode; but not so she; 
For Sybil is a glorious creature ; though 
She '11 jest by the hour, when her light-arm'd wit 
Rides tilt with even your own, yet, like to you, 
"Within, where the world sees her not, there Duty 
Eules like an empress, and admits no check. 
One of Her laws is Charity, and Sybil 
"Would, where she can, make labor's wages just, 
Quiting' the workman's product, not his name. 
Vin. Noble! [id ith emotion. 

Man/. Is 't not? [Looking at him attentivehj.] Hence, 
for her new attire, 
A poor girl has she working here at home, 
At generous rates. 'T was in my cousin's rooms, 
AYhere gallantry, my uncle's wishes more. 
And true regard for Sybil, made me spend 
Many glad hours, I first met this young maid. 



ACT I. SC. 1. 11 

Helen "What makes you start ? 

Vin. It is the name 
Your brother mention'd. Manfred ! — 

Manf. Do but hear. 

Helen Husli ! hither come Sir Henry's self 

And Sybil. I am not in humor now 

To meet them. Let me go. {breahing from him. 

Vin. For what? and whither? 
Ah, Manfred ! [Exit Manfred, as 

Enter 
Sir Henry Ferguson and Sybil. 

Sir H. Has he left you all alone ? 
Syh. "Without the fellowship of even his wits ; 

For, uncle, see ! poor Mr. Vincent 's dumb. 
Vin. Dumb with surprise his friend liad power to fly 
The centre of attraction. 

Syl). O good sir. 
My cousin is eccentric, well you know ; 
The laws of vulgar planets rule not him. 
Sir H. Well, let his orbit take him where it will, 
Here 's Mr. Vincent shall revolve with us. 
"We 're for tlie flowers : to-day some rare ones bloom. 
Vin. "Whose beauty will grow lovelier in the light 

Of this contrasted 

Syl). Uncle, stop his speech ; 
He makes the dullest compliments on earth. 

Vin. For there 's a grace beyond the brightest powers 

Syl. Is there? Come then; we '11 seek it in my flowers. 

\Exeunt. 



12 the silver head 

Scene II. 

A smaller room, or houdoir, very elegantly yet chastely fur- 
nished, leading from the reception-room of Mrs. Vernon s 
suite. The large door of cominunication, which directly 
faces the S2)ectators, is icide open, and, standing in the en- 
trance, zcith his arms loosely folded, is seen Manfeep, 
gazing 2)enslvely on Helen, who is seated on a divan, hefore 
a table, near the upper end of the room, or left"^ wing of the 
scene, sewing. Various articles of needleiDorlc are on the 
table before her, and on the divan beside her, where lies a 
silk dress, partially made up. She does not appear aware 
of Manfred's presence. He comes forward softly, and with 
some timidity, yet tcithout appearing to wish to escape no- 
tice. As he ap)p)roaches, Helen looks up, betrays emotion 
and confusion, and, casting down her eyes, endeavors to 
resume her work; but her embarrassment seems to set at 
nought her efforts. 

Manf. I — I thought, Miss Helen 

\^p)ausing in confusion. 
Rel. {with an effort.'] Mrs. Vernon, sir, 
Has just stepp'd out. 

Manf. No doubt, will soon return. 
I "11 wait her here [taking a seat near the table; at 
ichich Helenas embarrassment increases so evi- 
dently, that he hastens to add — hut his tone 
is tender and timid, and perplexes her so 
much that she lets fall her icork. 
if 't will not hinder von. 



ACT I. SC. 1. 13 

Your work, Miss Helen, [handing it respectfully . She 
takes it with a mute motion of thanl's^ icithout 
ever raising her eyes. 

l^ow, were I a judge, 
I 'd think you 'd have me praise your gentle art. 
There, see ! your needle is unthreaded. Stay, 
Let me essay ; your fingers seem unsure, [talcing her 
needle from her^ tchich in her agitation she has 
teen unahle to thread. She seems to have no 
foioer of resistance or refusal. 
Are you not well ? [falteringly and icith great tender- 
ness. 
You tremhle. Ah ! you work 
Too steadily. So young, and so confin'd, 
It is not well, believe me. There ! you see 

[drawing a thread through the eye of the needle. 
My hand is steadier than yours, though silk 
And needles have not been my playthings. 

He hands the needle^ and in the act of her 

talcing it, which she does without raising her eyes, 

their fingers touch. A deep silence, Helen trying vainly to 

use the needle, Manfred gazing at her fixedly. — 

Suddenly — springing t/^i and clasping his 

hands violently together. 

Oh: 

This is pure madness ! Helen ! 

nel. O my God ! 

Sir, [with a sudden effort.^ Mrs. Yernon You 

will find her, sir. 



14 THE SILVER HEAD 



In tLe conservatory with Sir Henry. 

They went to see the blooming of the [ Gaining 

courage as she speaks, she nentures here to 
looTc up, and meeting the impassioned gaze 
of Manfred, stops short : her worh falls 
again — her eyes are cast doicn — her 
hreathing is audible. 

Manf What? 
\_A pause, while he steadily regards her. 
Helen \taking his seal beside her on the divan.], to trifle 

thus — to cheat ourselves — 
Or try to, — for we cannot, — is waste torture. 
Helen — dear Helen ! — [taking her hand. She makes 
a faint effort to withdraw it, and bursts into 
tears.] do not cry ! [staunching her 

tears with his owii handkerchief. 
to know 
I love you — dearly, — can it be such pain ? 

[Helen suddenly disengages herself, and rises. 
Hel. You are — Sir Henry's nephew — and I am — [again 

bursting into tears. 
Manf. [springing impetuously to her.] Poor Helen Matti- 
Bon [mournfully.]: and you are, too. 
Pure Helen Mattison, and sweet, and good, 
And beautiful as gentle ; and I am — 
Oh, very wicked thus to steal your heart! 
For God has made me stronger, and I should 
Have crush'd this dangerous feeling [Hel. with- 
draws her hand, which he had retaken. 



ACT I. SO. 2. 15 

Hel. [desjjairinglyJ] Let ine go. 
Oh me ! this house ! what shall I do ? 

\iDringing her hands and weeping. 
Manf. Ah yes ! 
Yes, yes, I am as mad as sinful. Oh sit down ! 

[leading her l>ack to the divan. 
Resume your woi'k, your innocent work ; wipe dry 
Those bitter tears that I have made to flow. 
There! there! becalm; I will withdraw ; I '11 meet 

My cousin and detain her 'T is too late ! 

I hear her coming. [Loioering his voice.] Try, do try, 
to sew. 
He turns his l)ach on her., and wallcs to the 
open door, as Sybil enters. She has a hunch of 
flowers in her hand. 
Syl). You are wondrous dull, to be a wise man, Cousin ; 
And as for seeking, trust me, never care 
To Cupidize your eyes in bliudman's-bufF, — 
They see as well unbandag'd. 

Manf. I 'm at fault : 
What mean you ? {He steals an uneasy glance at Helen. 
Syh. Mean ? Why that you were at fault. 
I, with Sir Henry, seek you, and you steal 
Out of our sight, before our faces ! then. 
Go hunting for me, in the place I had left ! 
For I would swear you came not here to sew. 
Bless us! how pale you look! There [giving him the 

hunch of Jlowers.'] ; 't will revive you ; 
Though you deserve it not. But are you ill? 



16 THE SILVER HEAD 



Manf. O yes ; the heat is stifling here. Come out, 
The hour is fine for walking : the fresh air 
I think will do me good. Do come ! {^endeavoring to 

lead her out. 
Syh. The air? 
Surely jow dream : this room can not be close. 
Sit down. Tou naughty cousin ! you have torn 
My best flowers all to pieces ! And there, now ! 
You are mad ! or getting so ; you 're biting off 
The heads of those you had left ! [tahing the stock frora 
him^ and heating him ivith it. 
Is 't my turn next? 
Begone ; or T shall scream for help. [He does not pre- 
tend to more, Init gazes stealthily at Helen. 
Indeed, 
Sir Heni'y wants you, and your friend. Do go ; 
You 'II find them in the billiard-room. 

Manf. Yet Coz, 
I would you 'd pity me, and come to walk. 
Do now ! [endeavoring again to lead her from her scat. 

Syh. And let you in a revery tear 
My hair from out my head, or gnaw my hands ! 
No, sir, the mischief you 've done here will do : \_8he 
looTcs in her turn at Helen., hut, in liTce man- 
ner, stealthily. 
And 't is to pity you to send you off. 
Besides, did you not hear ? our uncle waits. 
Manf. [rising.'] You will not come? 

Syh. No, flower-breaker, no ! 



ACT I. SC. 2. 17 

Manf. Unkiud! [at the door. 

Syh. Ah? Look at this. [Pointing to the remains 

of the nosegay. He steals a look at Helen, 

and Exit, — Helen half lifting, timidly, 

her eyes a moment. Sybil observes 

them hoth. 

Unkind, indeed I 
And so they 'U bruise <a heart, these men, hlce flowers, 
Strip leaf by leaf off, in a pure abstraction, 
And talk of kindness ! [Helen sighs.] Is it so, niy child ? 
Hel. Madam? — [timidly, without lifting her eyes. 

Syh. I ask'd you Heavens! what 's all this ? 

My silk you are sewing with white cotton, and 
Your fingers drip with blood ! You prick them still ! 
Helen, what is the matter? [in a l-ind tone, and taking 
the xoorTc and needle from, her hands. 
And these tears ! 
One on another, hot, upon my hands ! 
Hel. [clasping her hands fassionately , and looking vjy, as 
if appealing to Heaven. 
O miserable me ! "Why was I born ! 
Or why not born a lady, and born rich ! [lets fall her 
hands, aiid iceej^s Utterly. 
Syh. [taking her hand affectionately and speaking with 
great kindness and in a tone of sympathy. 
Not born a lady ? and born rich ? You mean, 
I think, to ask, "Why not without a heart. 
For 't is your tenderness of heart, my girl. 
Not want of wealth or station, makes you weep. 



THE SILVER HEAD 



Yet you ineaii something. Come now, dry your eyes : 
[ Wiping Helenas tears icith Tier liandherchief, 
just as Manfred had done he/ore. 
Be calm, and speak. 

Hel. O madam ! I 'm not fit 
That you should touch me thus with your own hands. 
Syh. [dropping her hand gently. 

Are you not pure then ? honest-liv'd and chaste ? 
Hel. O yes, or could I sit beside you now ? 

Syh. [talcing her hand again.] Why then, 
"What am I better than yourself, poor child, 
Save that I have the means to do you good? 

[Helen raises SyhiVsJingers rapturously 

to her lips. 
No, no, not that ! but this [putting one arm ahout 
her.] and this [talcing a hand 
in hers.] — Now speak : 
Fancy that Sybil Vernon is your friend, 
And say, wliat would you, were you, Helen, born 
A lady, and born rich ? 

Hel. Born rich ? a lady ! [«i a low., 
half-murmured tone ; then suddenly ., in a sort 
of enthusiasm^ tchile she d?'ops SyhiPs hand, 
who gazes on her tcith interest that lie- 
comes admiration, and wonder as she 
speaks. 
"Why should I covet station, but for him ? 
That I might dare to look into his eyes, 
And listen to his voice, nor dread his touch — 



ACT 1. SC. 2. 19 

[hesitating. 
"Whose love I might be, were I born .as high. 
Why long for riches, lady, but to be 
Able to pour them all into his lap ? 
I could not covet to be great myself. 
But to make others greater than myself. 
Syh. But why this ? Why not love in your own sphere ? 
Mel. Madam, because I find there none to love. 
tSyh. I do believe you : for your thoughts, your words. 
Your mien are, Helen, — not above your birth. 
For that I know not, — but above the range 
Their life allows the humble ; they are those 
Leisure, and gentle breeding, converse long 
"With the refin'd and delicate, chiefly give. 
Still, nature, and a — proud love, may do much, [look- 
ing at her clonehj. 
Rel. Ah madam, my romance has made you sport ! 
A girl's ambitious longings, a — a — sketch 

"Which Fancy color'd 

SyT). Hush ! be always true : 
Hide what you will, but seek not to deceive. 
Your picture was heart-painted. For my " sport "^ — 
How long since I grew wicked in your eyes? 
Or have you ever found me to forget 
That gentle breeding which but now I prais'd ? 
Hel. Oh madam, do forgive me ! "Who that knows 

Aught of your 

Syh. Prithee, praise not ; but say on. 
Whence then, if not from love and nature, came 



20 THE SILVER HEAD 



Tliat tone .and air that make us equal ? Speak. 

[taTcing Tier hand. At first, Helen, by a sud- 
den and impetiious movement, raises Si/hil's 
fingers to her li^^s, then she resigns her 
hand to her,^ and answers. 
Hel. My father has them. Ah, could you but see 
ITis white head, with its venerable length 
Of hair like an apostle's, as he reads 
At nightfall in the leisure want allows. 
The lore and poetry of other days, 
Days when he was not happier perhaps. 
But had more ease to cultivate such tastes. 
You would not wonder, that a not rude heart, 
And docile spirit that still sought to please 
Where pleasing was both duty and delight. 
Should catch some faint reflection from his blaze. 
Syh. [smiling, while she places the hand she has disengaged, 
caressingly on the head of Helen.1 
And I shall see him. 

Hel. Madam! — [surprised. 

Syh. And why not ? 
Are we not friends ? To-morrow I shall call 
At Helen's house ; perliaps the good old man 
"Will not be loath to see his daughter's friend. 
Come, don't be silly! [jnMing the end of her fingers 

on Helenas U2}s.] And besides, ray child, 
You will not hither come again to work. 
Hel. [betraying herself in the extremity of her surprise and 
grief] Oh God ! — 



ACT I. SC. 2. 21 

Syl. [soothlngli/.] Hush, Helen ! you yourself 
shall own 
To-morrow, there is cause, and I am right. 
Be not abash'd, poor child ! [kissing her on the fore ■ 

head. 
Hel. [hastily.] ISTo madam, I 
Am only grateful. 

Syi. There now, get your things. 
You shall not wait your brother, but go home 
Before the night. You are not well to work ; 
And those sweet eyes want resting : and, besides — 
Besides — 
Rcl. [firmly yet sadly.] Besides, 'tis better that I should. - 

O, would I never ! 

Syl. Nay, do not be rash. 
How know you what I have to say, the morn ? 
Now we will part ; but to my closet first, 
To wash your secret from those telltale eyes. 
Hel. [despond ingly.] Thanks ! but O madam, what shall 
wash it out 
From heart and brain ! 
Syi. [imtting her arm ahout Heleji's waist, and pressing 
her to her.] Time, Helen, and — my love. 
Exeunt, — Helen kissing SyhiVs hand. 



22 THE SILVER HEAD 

Scene III. 
As in Scene I. — Manfred and Vincent. 

Manf. Now you know all. [sadly. 

Vin. All, Manfred ? "Whence then came 
The changes of your cheek, now flush'd, now jiale, 
Ypur tremulousness of hand, and wandering eye, 
And still more absent mind — so gone, that when 
Sir Henry ask'd you questions of our game. 
You star'd so wildly stupid, that I look'd 
To see him break his cue upon your head — 
"Whence came this ? And whence came you ? Ah, my 
friend ! 

"Was it well done, to? But I will not chide you. 

Say, only say, you did not tell your love. 

Manf. Alas! 

Yin. Unhappy I — Yet not guilty, so 
You did not from intention make it known. 

Manf. No, on my honor, no ! 

Vin. I know it well. 
Such baseness is not Manfred's, else 't were vain 
To give you counsel or to urge you more. 
And was this bui'st of passion welcome? [anxiousli. 

Manf. No. 
Oh yes it was ! And yet it was not too. 
She wept, yet trembled, sought to go, yet staid, 
"Withdrew her hand, yet through the delicate skin 
I felt tlie hot blood bubble : then her breath. 



ACT I, SO. 8. 23 

That echo'd passionate sigh for sigh ! her eyes, 
Tliat through their down-turn'd lashes, pour'd such rain 
With fire mix'd ! — {Manfred has spoken with an en- 
thusiasm or transport increasing at every 
clause, and noio grasps Vincent's hands in 

both of his. 
Vin. Madman ! Paint no more. Your eyes 
Glow with unholy rapture, and your heart, 
O Manfred ! where is its remorse ? Where now ? 

[Man/, huries his face in his hands. 
This poor girl, this young virgin, whose weak heart 
It is so easy, for a man like you, 
To win, — as 't is to break it, you would not 
Debauch her, Manfred ? 

Manf. Vincent! 

Vin. Hush! 't is I, 
I, Vincent, that have ask'd it, and I answer. 
No, not even in your dreams. What would you then ? 
You would not, you, the accomplish'd and the learn 'd. 
The rich, the high in fashion as in name, 
The darling of your uncle, who on you. 
And not on Oscar, leans, as on the prop 
And glory of his now declining years, 
You would not, would you, Manfred Ferguson, 
[quicTcening his tone.] You would not make your wife 
of this poor girl ? 
Manf. No, no! [mournfully. 

Vin. No ; that proud old man, whose sense 
Of honor is so nice, that he would curse you — 



24 THE SILVER HEAD 



He, that was bred amid licentious wars, 

And nurtur'd his high morals in a camp — 

Were you to ruin this young innocent girl. 

Yet, did his nephew wed her, do you think 

This proud old man would bless you, Manfred ? he ? 

Manf. peace ! No more : I '11 crush this passion. 

Vin. Yes. 
For 't is not only kindred, friends, the world, 
That you would alienate or sore offend 
By such a marriage, but your very self. 
"What would her rude relations be to you ? 
Could you mix fairly with them, you, a man 
So delicate and nice, so high-refin'd, 
That the world deems you a voluptuary, 
And I, who know you better, find in this — 
Your passionate love of beauty of all kinds, 
Your loathing of the coarse, the rude, the mean — 
Senses so exquisite, that commonest things, 
That pass unnotic'd by most delicate minds. 
Give to you provocation, pain, disgust, — 
Could you, this man, take by their horny hands 
Her kindred, and endure their uncouth slang? 

Manf. Death ! I have told you, Vincent, I will break — 

Though it should break my heart 

Vin. Not yours, nor her*; 
Hearts are not made of such a glassy stuff. 
They crack perhaps a little, but then time 
Cements the portions, and the ruptnr'd part, 
Though in its seam unsightly, stands not less. 



ACT I. SC. 3. 25 

You will break off this passion — Well ! at once ? 
Manf. At once. Oh yes! 

He has walked in his excitement towards one end 
of the apartment^ and, as he speaks, he seems 
to see something throur/h a icindoio, or other- 
wise. He starts and spirings to his hat, 
which is lying on a table. 
Ah ! — 

Vin. Manfred ! this your word I 
Man/, [struggling with him.] But she is going ! Vincent, 

[Jlercely.] let nie go I 
Vi7i. Never ! "What, are you Manfred ? and a man ? 
Where is your promise, which is yet scarce cold? 
Sit down. There ? 't is all over. Courage ! So ! 
Manf. [wJio has allowed himself to he seated, throwing his 
head on VincenVs shoulder, loho leans soothingly 
over him. 
Cruel ! yet kind ! 

Vin. Courageous you, and true. 

The Drop descends. 
Vol. W.—l 



26 THE SILVEE HEAD 



Act the Second. 

Scene I. TJie little parlor helonging to Saffiseh lodgings. 

OsoAR. Saffise. 

Saff. And were you such a fool ? 

Osc. I was, Miss Pert. 
Saff. Then you may manage this affair yourself. 

I will not let my chambers, no, not I, [saucily curtsy- 
ing^ spreading out her dress, and 
strutting from Mm. 
To help a fellow in his plot, so dull 
He makes his tongue a fingerpost, to show 
The world his private road ! A close one, you ! 
Osc. Tour chambers, hussy ! And who pays the rent ? 

[drawing her bach by her skirts. 
Saff. Why I ! I work for it, I 'm sure. 

Osc. You work! 
Your lazy fingers would not earn the hair 
That stuffs this pad you mount on your fat loins, 
To make a pismire of you, or a churn. 
Saff. [pouting.] What ails my bustle ? 't is n't on your 

back? 
Osc. No, 'faith ! or I must needs cut off my skirts. 
But come, we will not quarrel : I but jested ; 
This hand 's a pretty one — I like it well — 
And work would spoil 't. Here, sit upon my knees. 



ACT II. SC. 1. 27 

Saff. Saucy ! I sha' n't do any sucli a thing. 

Osc. Sit, in the devil's name, then, wliere you please. 

My brother's humor is strong on me to-day ! 

I shall turn rhymer some of these odd moons. 
Saff. You 'd better turn an oysterman, and cry 

Tour ware as open as your mouth. 

Osc. Come, come, 

You are getting too severe. Don't mount my horse ; 

'T will throw you. How was I, since you 're so wise, 

To reckon on this sudden change of mood ? 

That hot-head fool, my brother, who still Avears 

His heart upon his lips, and ever blabs 

His uppermost thought, as if the world were fill'd 

With honest dreamers like himself 

Saff. Did not, 

Frank as you make him, tell this freak to you : 

You found him out with Helen, or I help'd you. 
Osc. Why that is true, [hiting Ms nails from vexation. 
I was an ass, to deem 

He 'd prate, though loose of tongue, of an amour 

To such a canting hypocrite as Vincent, 

While I, who am not strict 

Saff. No, devil take you ! 
Osc. Was kept in the dark! Now, what is to be done? 

All I can say, that Vincent will unsay. 

And Manfred still keeps pure. — 

Saff. [singing contemptuously. 1 Fol, lol, de lay ! 
Osc. What do you mean ? 

Saff. Why that yon arc " an ass." 



28 THE SILVER HEAD 



Did you not tell me, Manfred's weakest point 

"VTas to let others lead him by the nose ? 
Osc. Yes, though a very sage among his books, 

And brilliant in his talk, all tliat 's but head ; 

His heart is weaker than a child's, and wax 

To any pressure. 

Saff. Then you set your stamp 

Upon it, Avhen this Mr. Vincent 's done 

Osc. And give it a new impress. You improve. 
Saff. Perhaps I do. No matter. Then you said, 

This heart, wliich is as simple as a child's. 

Is yet as fiery Pray, what did you say ? 

Osc. As JEtna. Ay, a lava- tide, his blood. 

Were 't not his proud refinement keeps him pui-e, 

And moral sense, as he would naine the check, 

Manfred 's of such a mold his passions' strength 

Would make him the most sensual of men. 

How your eyes sparkle! 

Saff. Never mind my eyes : 

If 't were my wish to step in Helen's shoes, 

Toil could not hinder me. Now let us see. 

Why do you want to ruin this poor girl? 
Osc. You pity her? \_with great surprise. 
Saff. Not I! my misery loves 

To be in company. 

Osc. You are so keen, 

I needs must trust you. Know, my uncle's pet 

Is Manfred and not Oscar. — 

Saff\ All know that. 



ACT II, SC. 1. 29 

Osc. Peace! will you? — And my uncle's folly is 
To hold a stainless name above pure gold. 
Still more than him he loves our cousin Vernon ; 
And 't is his wish — [confused.'] But that is not the thing. 
\_Saff. loolcs at him very sharply. 
Now, do you see ? If Manfred's passions rule, 
I am the gainer; for Sir Henry 's rich. 
Saff. I see ; more than you think : you say I am keen. 
You hope to get at once the greater part 
Of uncle's wealth and all of cousin's too. 
Oscar maTces a gesture of rage and vexation, and turns 
from her to hide his emotion. 
But let me tell you, you shall find Saffise 
More than your match, and this rich widow's bed 
Shall not hold Oscar Ferguson, who 's mine. 
Perhaps too, Helen would not come amiss, 
"With brother Manfred to bear all the blame ? 
Osc. Have you the devil in you? [turning fiercely on her. 
Saff. [coldly.] No ; have you ? 
They gaze at one another a long moment.^ Saffise tcitli her 
arms aJcimio, Oscar icit/i, his thumls in his 
tcaistcoat-armholes. 
Osc. [bursting into a laugh.] Saff., you 're a shrewd one, — 
yet a fool withal. 
Come, toss this womans-jealousy aside, 
And aid me in my plans: I '11 make you rich. 
Sa^. "Well, but remember ! there shall be no match 
'Twixt you and that proud lady ? 

Osc. Sure there sha' n't. 



30 THE SILVER HEAD 



You foolish child ! D' you find that Oscar tires 
As yet of these round arms, thy swelling loins [2)titting 
his right arm about her tcaist, while he takes 
with his left hand a hand ofhers^ and they 
loallc vp and doicn together. 
(Despite the bustle), and those parted breasts, 
Of that round head, this silken haii*, those eyes, 
"Whose saucy light might blind a thousand Helens, 
Though she of old were one (especially now 
Hers must be clean gone from their sockets) — {She 
strikes him on the forehead. 
pshaw ! 
Can I not love, and have my joke as well? 
I have seen men fondle lasses, pipe in mouth, 
And they, the girls, took one with the other fail', 
The smoke and the caress — those eyes, Saffise, 
And these red lips that pout a juicier kiss [kissing ho: 
Than any cousin's — 
Saff. [turning aside, and making with her lijjs a move- 
ment and sound of disgust and 
contempt. 
"Whom you cannot kiss. 
Have done with foolery, [shaking him off.} 

You want these rooms? 
Osc. And Helen in them. But in truth, you jade. 
It does surprise me, Helen, who is not 

Exactly of your sort 

Saff. But may be soon. 
Osc. Stuff! you mistake me. I meant, who is not 



ACT II. SC. 1. 31 

In speech, in tlioughts, in manners, like her class — 
[She is about angrily to interriqit Mm: lie claps 
Jus hand on her moiith. 
Don't be a fool! — that she, this gentle girl, 
Should make a playmate of a slut like you. 
Saff. [mastering her einotion.] And do you think I seem to 
her as now ? 
I suit my manners, blackguard, to my friends. 
0s6, Pshaw, pretty pouter! can 't you take a jest? 
Saff. Yes, but true things are sometimes said in jest, 
And you, who are always jesting, never jest 
"Without a bitter malice that stings sore. 
If human snakes could kill, this well I know, 

I should have died of poison 

Osc. Long ago. 
Ha, ha ! — But there 's a rattle in ray tail : 
Folk get out of my way. — But, not to make 
A rattle of your tale, go on, and say, 
What intimacy have you with this girl? 
Saff. She knows me as a seamstress, like herself. 
Once only did she, when we work'd together, 
Visit me here ; but I have often call'd 

On Helen 

Osc. Ay, she has a brotlier. 

Saff. Devil! 
Take care — I may be even with you yet. — 
The old musicplate-engraver likes me not, 
I see that plain, but Helen treats me well. 
Osc. And }'ou have never talk'd to her of men ? 



32 THE SILVER HEAD 



Saff. D' you take me for a lunatic, or fool ? 
Girls do not talk, to innocence like liers, 
Of anything that may commit themselves. 
Osc. Hum ! 

Saff. But you don't believe in innocence. 
Osc. Not I ! but Manfred does : one fool 's enough 

In the family. — So, she takes Saffise to be ? 

Saff. Just what she is : what should she know of you ? 

And, but for you, I am as good as she. 
Oac. Phe-ew! [icliistUng. 

Saff. I swear, I '11 strike you with my fist! 
Osc. 'T would spoil that pretty hand I just now prais'd. — 
Can you induce this Helen, prude or maid, 
To visit you again ? 

Saff. When? 

Osc. Now — to-night — 
"Within an hour. 

Saff. Yes, so it be not dark : 
Her father will not trust her out at night. 
Osc. He is wise. 

Saff. What then ? 

Osc. I '11 bring my brother here. 
Saff. Ah ! 

Ose. Don't 'be scar'd; he would not look at you. — 
But this is likely ? She will come ? 

Saff. She will. 
Osc. Then look to see us both here in an hour. 
"We '11 leave her with my brother here alone ; 
And, if he is wiser than I was with you, [pzitting on 

his hat. 



ACT II. SC. 1. 33 

He is — different in blood. [Exit, carelessly. 

Saff. As in all else, [looking after 
him ioith a7i expression oj" strong contempt, 
mixed with anger. 
Mean, dirty, spiteful, coxcomb half, half rogue ! 
" Not look on me !" you viper ? That for you ! 

[snapping her fingers. 
I 
Re-enter Oscar. 

Osc. I interrupt you. You were praising me. Go on. 
fiaff. As you deserve. What brings you back ? 

Osc. Just this. 
If Helen do not come, make you a signal 
Out of your window, whistle, cough, or sing, — 
Or — snap your fingers, that will do as well — 
Just as you practis'd now. 

Saff. Or, say I pour 
A basin of nice soapsuds on your head ? 
Osc. Why that will answer too. We '11 not come in. 
Good bye now, gentle dove, and don't forget. 
"That for you!" [snapping Ms fingers, as he retires. 
Ha, ha, ha! [Exit. 

Saff. I '11 hear you go. — 
[holding the door ajar and listening. 
At last ! [slamming it. 

— I have known a Creole, like myself, 
That in jSTew Orleans would have stabb'd you dead, 
For half you have said to me. But I '11 do more. 
You ''II not come in^ Yes, but you shall : I '11 see 



34 THE SILVER HEAD 



Whether this Manfred will not looTc on me. 
Sharp as you are, you did but half pierce through 
My secret — or car'd not to go so deep — 
For daring is your sole virtue. But for that, 
I would not touch you with this old worn shoe, [hiclc- 
ing it violently off her foot. 
You shall not get your cousin, nor shall he [throwing 

herself on a couch. 
Keep Helen, — though, for I do hate the minx ! 
He shall, if he will, make her {there I '11 help him) 
Just what his cursed brother has made me. 
Then I will make him loathe her, silly thing, 
With her dull eyes that would not scare a flea! 
The noble fellow ! he shall love a girl 
"With blood as fiery as his own, — that 's mine ! 
And fling her off", as I would my old shoe, [hiching off 
the other., with like force of action. 
As my old shoe ! [singing wildly. 

as my old shoe ! [same. 
[Crying violently.] Oh God! 
I would I were a shoe ! the poorest shoe 
On the meanest foot in the world, I do, I do ! 
Then I should have no feeling of the foot 
That trod me in the dirt — nor of that dirt ! [sobbing 

hysterically. 
Scene closes. 



ACT ir. sc. 2. 35 

Scene II. 
TTie Tiurrihle i^arlor of MarTc Mattison. 

The old man is seated at a tahle reading in a small T)ool\ 
Helex ieJiind him, leaning over his shoulder. 

Hel. Repeat those lines, my father. 

Matt. Gladly, child. 

Reading.'] As sensual passion sinks us to the ground, 
So a true love exalts us to the skies : 
All that God gives of pure and holy lies 
"Within the verge of its enchanted round. 

Though low the ohject, yet shall there be found, 
In love, the charm to raise it in thine eyes. 
But oh, too froward youth, if thou be wise. 
Let no mean reach thy aspirations bound ! 

Dare to love high above thee ! so thy aim 
Shall lift thy soul to equal its desire. 
And make even failure glory and not shame, 

All thy heart's ore refined by the fire 
Of the proud altar where thy prayers aspire, 
And gilt by its reflection even thy name. 

Hel. [repeating slowly, and in a low tone. 

" Dare to love high above thee " "Was 't well said ? 

Matt. I thought so once, my daughter, and do still. 

How is this ? the leaf is blister'd with your tears ! 

"What ails my child ! "Why should this make her 
weep ? 



36 THE SILVER HEAD 



Hel. He was a noble spirit that thus wrote! 
What was his name ? 

Matt. Mark Mattison, they say. 
TIel. Not you, my father ? [eagerly. 

Matt. As I was in youth. 
Matt. And men receiv'd your great thoughts? — 

Matt. With neglect. 
It is the fate of better bards than I. 
Hel. While senseless pens win competence and fame ! 

me, my father, I was very Aveak 

To grieve for want of riches ! \Tcissing his silver hair. 
Matt. Helen — child! 

1 never knew you to repine before? [inquiringly. 
Eel. I never did, till Father, did you mean — 

[hesitatingly .1 and hiding her face on 
his shoulder. 
'T is better to love hopelessly above one, 
Where the affection is sincere and pure, 

Than to I am very silly — do not mind me. 

[sohhing. 
Matt. Very unhappy, Helen, much I fear. 

But let me answer your half-question first ; 
Then I have one myself to put in turn. — - 
Not better for one's peace perhaps and ease, 
But better for high thoughts, for all that lifts 
The soul above the prose of vulgar life. 
For from affliction only God has wilFd 
The mind should take to it its angel-wings. 
Whose feathers are weigh'd down and earthy made 



ACT II. SC. 2. 37 

By the slow-gathering dust of happy ease. 
Fruition feeds the sense to starve tlie mind, 
And dull inaction makes the stagnant pool, 
Where storms rage not, but freshness neither plays, 
Nor beauty smiles, as in the dimpled wave. 
They who aspire, in love, as in all else, 
In disappointment purge from dross their souls, 
And gain by self-denial strength like gods. — 
Such is my comment. And now tell me, child, 
What is a hopeless, high-plac'd love to you? 
Helen, who has lifted her head and listened with eagerness 
and awahened spirit till now^ here lets it sink 

again upon the old man''s shoulder. 
Why have you wept? Why are you weeping now? 
Why came you home so pale and thoughtful-sad ? 
Why for this week past have your cheeks grown thin? 
Why do I hear you, through my chamber-wall. 
Moan in your sleep, and, when the morning comes, 
Find your eyes swollen with the trace of tears? 
Why, in one word, lias Helen, in one week, 
Grown up a woman from a simple child ? 
Look up, my daughter, and now tell me why 
You put that question to a man like me ? 

Have you [his voice slightly agitated] 

God help us! — has your work, my child. 
Led you to Colonel Ferguson's too oft? 
Hel. [throwing herself at his hnees and 'bury ing her face in 
his lap) and weeping Utterly. 
Father, forgive me ! 



38 THE SILVER HEAD 



Matt. Helen! and for what? 
You have not sinn'd, or you would never dare 
To kiss ray hands thus and emhrace my knees. 
Hel. O no, no ! but I am unhappy. 

Matt. Yes. - 
Which is it ? [very brief pause.] 

'T is not Oscar ? [anxiously. 
Hel. [eagerly raising her head.] Heavens, no ! 
Matt. Manfred — Ah ! how you tremble ! hapless child ! 
This is indeed a high and hopeless love ! — 
Manfred the world speaks well of, — and well speaks ; 
But he is lofty, his proud uncle's heir, 

And — and — they say — his cousin Vernon 

Rel No! 
[springing up^ and folding her arms wildly 
round the old man. 
Father, you kill me ! do not say so ! no 1 
No, no, no! he does not love her! 

Matt. Ah! [anxiously. 
Does he love you^ my daughter ! Has he dar'd ? ■ 

Helen, ybr answer, hugs him passionately., and hisses 

him again and again on cheeh and hrow.^ — then 

leans her Tiead on Ids shoulder. 

But he is honorable ; and absence — time 

My child, you must return there never more. [2yassing 
his hand soothingly over her hair. 
Hel. Never more, father ! [sadly.] Oh I never shall ! 
That lady too — so good like him, and true — 



ACT II. SC. 2, 89 

She bade me not return. 

Matt. She knows it then? 
Hel. I fear so ; but she only said, the while 

She kiss'd me like a sister, calFd me friend. 

That on the morrow she would visit you 

Matt. Me? Are you not deceiv'd? And yet I hope 

Hel. These were her words : " To-morrow I shall call 

At Helen's house ; perhaps the good old man 

"Will not be loath to see his daughter's friend." 
Matt. Bless, bless her, God ! my child may yet be sav'd. — 

Go now, and dry your tears, and gain composure. 

Your brother must not know 

Hel. Oh no ! oh no ! — 

But first, your pardon, father, [kneeling at his feet. 
Matt, {raising and hissing lier.~\ Mine, my child ! 

'T is I should rather ask the like of tliee. 

Is it your fault your nerves are not of steel. 

Your blood not torpid, and these sunny locks 

ISTot silver like your father's? Hush ! he comes. 

Go to your room. \_Exit Helen, and 

Enter Eichard Mattisox. 

Rich. So Helen has got home ? [looJcing 
at the door ichere she has 
dlsap2)eared. 
I stopp'd an hour earlier than my wont. 
And found her gone. I hope it is for good. 
Matt. Why so, ray son ? 



40 THE SILVER HEAD 



Rich. sir, perliaps there 's cause 
To fear she may have been there once too oft. 
Matt. Sir, sir ! for shame ! 

Rich. Shame it may be, for all. 

I '11 tell you. As I left the accursed house 

Matt. You forget, Kichard. [gravely and with dignity. 

Rich, [carelessly .^ Pardon, but I 'm warm. 
Matt. That you are always. 

Rich. "Well, well, 't is my blood. 
I met, then, Mr. Ferguson. — 

Matt, [hastily.] Not Manfred ? 

Rich. No ; 
Not that proud jackanapes ; the younger man. 
Matt. He does not please me. 

Rich. Nor the other me. 
Yet neither of us knows them, save by name 
And sight. He stopp'd me short, told who he was. 
And said he knew of danger to my sister. 
Matt. Ah! 

Rich. I grew angry ; but he check'd me straight, 
Boldly, as one who knew that he was right. — 
Matt. Boldly, as one who felt he was a man. 

Say that, and you say all, I fear, yoii should. 
Rich. It may be so ; but he is frank and rough. 

Talks as a freeman should, nor picks his words. 
As who would say, ''Mark! I am gentle-born," 
Like his more handsome brother. 

Matt. Have a care, 
And trust an old man's and a fatlier's word. 



ACT 11. SO. 2. 41 

If all 's not gold that glitters, neither, son, 
Is all true steel that has the temper'd look 
And close grain of the fin'd and coal-burn'd iron. 
EicTi. "Well, well ! \ioalking up and cloion. 

Matt. Impatient boy! one day! [holding his 

finger up tcariiinghj.'] Proceed : 

And in few words. 

Ulch. The fewer please me best. 
I promis'd I would meet him in an hour. 
In an appointed place which he propos'd. 
And learn this danger. Then I hasten'd home 
To see if Helen had not loiter'd, firm 
That she shall not return, if you approve, 
To any more such labor done abroad. 
And with new rage, to think she might have spar'd 
Herself and me and those white hairs this shame. 
Matt. There is no shame, will never be from her 1 
Rich. Shall never be, I hope ; but there is shame 
In this mere speech about her, and her pride 
Has been the cause of all. Did I not pray, 
Pray as a beggai*, she would let my toil 
Support us both ? 

Matt. No ; if it was a prayer. 
It was the most passionate one I ever heard. 
But your intent was good. Yet blame not her: 
'T was worthy of your sister and my child. 
Not to live idle, when our common means 
Scarcely suffice us for our common wants. 
But who is that? 



42 THE SILVER HEAD 



Rich, [joyfully.'] SaflSse. I kno^r her step. 
{moving eagerly to the door. 
Matt. I like her not, my son. 

Rich. \softly^ Hush ! Slie is here. 

As he oxtens the door^ the scene closes. 



Scene III. 

Same as in Act I. Sc. I. 
Manfred alone^ seated in an attitude of great dejection. 

Enter Sybil. 

Syh. "What, cousin, still pensoso ? still amort ? 

[Manf. rises. 
But you shall break no more iouquets for me. 
I would as soon entrust you with my heart. 
Manf. And 't were a perilous trust, my lady gay, 

[with a forced smile. 
To one who never knew to keep his own. 

[Resumes again his abstracted air. 
Syh. Yet I will wager half the greenhouse-yield, 



ACT II. SO. 3. 43 

You never treat it as you did my flowers. 

Perhaps that kindness is for tenderer hearts. 
Manf. Perhaps it is. 

Syl. Perhaps it is ? And said, 

As if you were confessing to the priest ! 

I was in hopes, but now, the gracious dawn 

Of my fair presence had arous'd your brain ; 

But the dull sluggard turns, and sleeps again. 
Manf. Excuse me, cousin Vernon, but I 'm sad, 

And cannot bandy wit with you to-day. 
Syl. And has not cousin Vernon then a heart, 

That can be sad with Manfred, if he will ? 

Try her. 

Manf. And gladly, were it but a grief 

That she might share. 

Syh. How know you, till you try? 

Or is it that you deem my soul too light 

Because I jest by the hour ? See me now ; 

I am, my cousin, quite as sad as you, 

And truly so, and solely for your sake. 
Manf. You are a noble creature ! [seizing her hand. 

Would to God ! 

Syl. Hush ! let your brother talk that way : from you 

I need no flattery, for you are true. 

Sit down now, Manfred ; let me sit by you. 

And let me go back where I just began, — 

But sadly, not in jest. The flowers you broke 

"Were such a natural emblem of man's love. 

At least for the too-confiding of our sex, 



44 THE SILVER HEAD 



Or weak and evil-guided, that I made 
One of them on the spot, and spoke it out 
For Helen's profit. \^Manf, starts. She looTcs at him 

in silence. 

ITan/. Helen! And she? 

Syl. Wept. 
Manf. Poor Helen! [half unconsciously. 

Syh. Poor indeed ! tliat in the world 
Had nothing hut a heart to call her own, 
And, being generous, gave it all away. 
Manf. [vehemently moved.'] Sybil! what mean you? 

Recovering.'] What is that to me? 
Syl>. Oh ! but I thought that you, whose heart is good, 
And feels spontaneously, like a god's. 
All human sorrow, would have griev'd to hear 
Of such a gentle creature so distress'd, — 
A girl so guileless, tliat her inmost soul 
Is visible as her lips, so loving too. 
That fondness wakes in her for being ask'd. 
Manf [musingly.] True — true ! — and very beautiful I — 
her voice 
The sweetest, save your own, I ever heard. 
Syd. It is a hard fate for an humble girl, 

"With such a soul as this poor seamstress owns. 

To see, as happier, richer women see. 

Hear with like voice, and feel with sense as keen, 

The tempter Love, and have no other choice. 

Than to forego his ecstasies, or pay 

"With shame and ruin every thrill and sigh. 



ACT 11. SC. 3. 45 

Manf. Sybil I — you torture inc. {in a very low voice. 

Si/b. I must, to Ileal, [so/tbj. 
Cousin, you are a man, in form and mien, 
Fram'd of tlie kind, not to make woman false. 
As says the playbook, but to keep them frail. 
When everywhere around you where you move 
You see the best among us, and most proud. 
Eager to catch your glances, and the hearts 
Of the more youthful, to whom love is new, 
rintter with pleasure at your mere approach. 
Is it to be expected a poor girl. 
Such as is Helen, sliould be more unmov'd ? 
That pressure of your fingers tells me, cousin, 
You know it is in kindness that I pain you. 
Oh it were very wicked in us both, 
If Helen ever should come here again. 
Or you go near to her ! [He malces a movement of gain- 
ful surprise.] Now, do not speak : 
But promise me who, as you often say. 
And truly, know you better than all else, 
Save one alone, and know you to hold dear, 
Promise you will exert your generous soul 
To curb this passion ; and to time and me 
Leave Helen's cure. 

Manf. I will ; for you and Vincent 
Are truly friends, who dare to give me pain, 
And punish me, like Heaven, to do me good. 
But do — be kind to Helen. 

Sj/h. Kind ? I love the girl, 



46 THE SILVER HEAD 



Have vow'd to be her friend — her mate, I mean, 
Not patroness, — and friend I will be. 
Manf. [in extremity of astonishment.^ You? 
You peerless creature ! \lcissing Tier hand rajpturously . 

"Where shall bo the man 
That shall deserve you ! 

Syh. Truth, coz, he must be 
A different man from you. I should not choose 
To play the game of life with such a knave 
Of hearts as you. 

Manf. No, a more sober suit {assuming a 
little of her gayety. 
Is like to win more points. I know of one. [signifi- 
cantly^ while Syhil endeavors^ iy rising, to 
conceal confusion. 
SyT). Our talk is done in time : there 's Cato coming 
"With his crook'd legs, to call us botli to dine. 
Let us spare his studies on the Line of Beauty. 
Manf. Be gay ; for you deserve it. [Reaching his hand to her. 
Syb. [as she taTces it.^ And be true 
To your own self; and who more gay than you ? 

[Exeunt, hand in hand. 



ACT III. SC. 1. 47 



AoT THE Third 
Scene I. ManfrecTs StudT/. 

The furniture indicates the character of the owner'' s mind; 
everything teing rather elegant than costly, and rather 
costly than fine. A tahle in the centre covered with 
iooks, drawings^ music, etc. In various parts of the 
room, hooks, musical instruments, ^^ic^^^res, copies of 
antique vases, statuettes, etc. Among the latter, are con- 
spicuous — the group of the Graces, the Venus of the 
Medici, the {so called) Antinous, and the Laocoori. 

Enter Oscar. 

Osc. I wonder he Las .appetite to dine. 

Till his return, I '11 have my talk with you, 
Meet emblems of your owner's showy parts, [taking 
off his hat and bowing with m,ocTc reverence 
to the objects round the room. Me then 
bows, in the same manner, to each par- 
ticular cast as he addresses it. 
You, faultless three, \to the Graces.] whose delicate 

outline bears 
The unmistakable charm of yet green youth, 
Are symbols of my brother's classic taste, 
And the fine sensualism which he would term 



48 THE SILVER HEAD 



Voluptuous love of beauty. I salute, [to the Venus. 

Madam, in your immaculate limbs, his lust, 

Veil'd with a simulate pudency as yours. 

In thee, thou melancholy minion-boy ! [to theAntinous. 

His hero-grace, as cousin Vernon calls it. 

Sweet liar! But ah, before thy mass I bow, 

[to the Laocoon. 
Thou double type of Manfred's self and me ! 
I am the snake, tliat round those muscular limbs, 
And body's writhing trunk, shall twine, and twine — 
In spirit, or the laws might make me hang — 
Till little is left for uncle to admire. — 
The gods and godlike of the place saluted, 
Let 's see what 's on the table to adore. 
"Why this is good ! [bending over a hook. 

H, E, — here 's Helen's name 
"Writ on this leaf of Dante ! Here 's her nose ! 
And hair, and scallop'd lips, and girlish cheeks! 
But these are not her eyes. The lovesick youth 
Doubtless could never long enough gaze there, 
To catch the physical shape would make them hers. 
Drawn on his rarest copy! [loolcing at the title-page 

of the hool:} — on the page 
"Which tells Francesca's very innocent love! 
By your good leave I '11 trace a comment here. 
Takes xqi a leadpencil from the tahle, and musing a 
hrief moment writes on the page. 
There, that will sting him. — Yes, 't is Helen's face, 
[contemplating the page again. 



ACT III. SC. 1. 49 

Done con amore^ with an artist's touch. 
These hps! I mean to touch their freshness too; 
But 't is not with a Brookman's lead I '11 do it. 
And here 's again her name — writ once, twice o'er. 
Why this is capital ! [alo>td. 

Enter Manfred. 

Man/. What is so? 

Osc. ^This, [^indicating the 
leaf with his finger. 
"Where Dante takes the pains, in black and white, 
To show the pretty seamstress tickles still. 
But have you din'd already ? 

Manf. Yes, I am ill. 
But Vincent's spirits make me little miss'd. 
And you ? 

Osc. Too late, — must make the pantry serve. 
Besides, your friend 's a side-dish rather stale: 
I like no warm'd-up hashes at my meals. 
Nor do I see that you digest him quite. 
Manf. How so? [witli- surprise. 

Osc. [looking doion on the iooh. 

H, E, L, Hel,— E, "N", en; Helen: 
That 's Helen's name I think that 's written here. 
And this is Helen's pretty face as well. 
Not much of Vincent in all this, I think. 
Don't sigh, man : Vincent is a fool ; and you — 
Look at that figure [jjointing to the Venus. — 

— and now gaze on these, [the Graces. 



50 THE SILVER HEAD 

Can all the musty maxims of your friend 
Give dreams like these? or is the waking sense 
Of flesh and blood made in that imaa:e less 

[2)ointing again to the Venus. 
Than a prude's proverbs or a cold friend's cant? 
Enjoy your fortune, or let some one else. 

Man/. Oscar! — [biting liis lips with anger. 

Osc. Frown, if you will ; but to my sense 
A seamstress and the friend of ray Saffise 
Seems scarce entitled to such grave respect. 

Manf. What do you say! a friend of -[seizing his arm. 

Osc. [witJi distinctness, emjjhasizing each tcord. 

My fair friend. 
No doubt they have rare sport at your expense, 
When, meeting in the evefiing, Helen tells 
How you have made a goddess of her, when 
She was so willing to be thought a girl ! 

Manf. Stop, sir! I am choking! This is your foul tongue. 

Osc. Ah? I must look : you have no mirror here? 

[affecting to looh about him. 
I really thought, this morning, it look'd clean. 
Brother, stop in your turn ! your walk, I mean, 
And beating of your forehead like a fool. 
Now let me ask you one plain question : this ; 
Have you not ever in boyhood, when your nose 
Was in our mother's applebarrels, observ'd 
How the bad fruit soon rotted all the sound 
By merely lying next it ? Well, I say 
Saflise is a bad woman, and her friend 



ACT III. SC. 1. 51 



Is Helen Mattison, your saintly maid. 
Manf. Prove it ! 

Osc. I swear it ! 

Manf. Prove it! [grasping his wrist. 
Osc. And I will. 
You shall, this very minute if you like, 
Put your own questions to the Creole ; na}', 
'T is ten to one, what will be proof complete, 
You '11 find your angel merry in her rooms. 
And if you do, I hope you will not pray? 
Manf. Don't mock me, Oscar ; it is sore to find 

One's dream of virtue a mere 

Osc. Fiddlestick ! 
Whoever dreamt of virtue in these girls, 
But such a dreamer by wholesale as you! 
Come, are you ready ? 

Manf. la five minutes, yes. 
Wait for me here, [going out impetuously. Stops sud- 
denly.] Ah now I do recall, [turning round. 
I promis'd I would not seek out this gii'l. 
Osc. And who desires you to? I am sure not I! 
You merely go to chat with bright Saffise ; 
And that you owe to me, to prove my truth. 
If ten to one your angel will be there, 
Why one to ten she '11 not. But, if she be, 
I hope again, for your own manhood's name. 
You will not make a goddess of a — girl. 
Go now, make haste; you '11 find me in the hall. 

[Exit Manf. 



62 THE SILYER HEAD 



For were I, weathercock, to wait you here, 
Some other wind might come to drive you back. 
As he prepares to go out, hat in hand. 

Enter Vinxent and Sybil. 

And here blow too ; sou' westers, by the mass ; 
Syh. Oscar ! — We thought to find your brother here. 
Osc. And so did I ; but here, you see, lie is not. 
I '11 go and seek him if you like, and say, 
That Parson Vincent is about to pray. [Exit Oscar. 
Syh, Ha, ha! But Oscar, [calling after him.] Uncle ask'd 
for you. — 
You 'd think he fear'd impressment for the clerk ! 
Shall we proceed without him? Which of these 

[loohing round her at the statuettes. 
Divinities deserves your office first ? 
Vin. [bowing gallantly.'] That which has enter'd in the 

temple last. 
Syh. I am congregation then, and idol too. 

Begin, good father; lo the missal spread, [taking up 

the Dante. 
But what is this ? a desecrated jiage ! 
And here is Helen's name — and face ! Alas I 
The arrow was well-barb'd. And verses too ! 
Oh ! this is Oscar's malice. Look there, sir. 

[handing tlie hooh to Vin. 
Vin. [reading. 

Proud man! thus, on the tale of Frances' woes, 
To write your Helen's name! for Danto shows, 



ACT III. SO. 1. 53 

His dame, tliongh marry'd, found a page to woo lif r, 
But yours has nothing else that can undo her. 

Malice indeed, with subtle purpose too ; 
For "Virtue often wavers at a laugh. 
Si/I>. 'T is as I judg'd, from Manfred's words, — you know 
My cousin's peril ? 

Vin. Only since this hour. 
Si/?>. We will speak more of it. As for this blow, 

It shall not reach him. [Takes ujy a hit of rubber /rom 
the table, and j)roceeds to erase the rhymes. 
Vin. Generous creature! — Pardon, 
[i/i co7i/'itsio?i. 
O that your cousin iis'd my eyes to see! 
Si/b. What? that his brother is a heartless rake, 
Who makes all honest feelings theme of jest? 
Vin. Yet with not less of venom, that he jests. 
No, I was more presumptuous in my thoughts, 
And wonder'd at a blindness more complete. 
At least less natural. [He looks at her icith much ear- 
nestness^ and Syb. for a moment seems abashed. 
Syb. Really, in this room [assuming 
sprightliness. 
There must be some infection ! for I see 
As dimly now as Manfred ; or you talk 
Too darkly, 't may be, for my womans-sense. 
You shall wait cousin Manfred here alone ; [going. 
One blind is quite enough at once to cure. 
She comes back, and in a more natural m,anner, extending 
her liand frankly to Vincent: 



54 THE SILVER HEAT) 



Dear Mr. Vincent, all depends on you : 
Promise you will not, while this danger lasts. 
Leave Manfred to himself. 

Vin, [cit first seems as if he would I'iss the 
hand he has tal-en, hut only 

hoiDS over it. 
No, on my soul ! 

[Exit Syhil. 
All, little do you know that Vincent has 
To battle with two enemies, and shield 
His friend not only, but himself as w^ell ! 
Conquest how glorious! victory over self; 

And, for the generous Manfred, won ah me! 

The noblest creature ever yet the heavens 

Shed light on — and, I think, the fairest. Strange! 

Most strange indeed, a man so keenly quick* 

To the perception of all beautiful forms, 

The very atmospliere of whose study {loolcing around 

him.] breathes 
Exquisite tastes, and passions well refin'd, 
A man of such romantic virtues too, 

Sliould have preferr'd, to her But let me see. 

[taking v]) the Dante and looking 
at it attentively. 
If this be Helen's face, and truly drawn, 
'T is very sweet : but not more so than hers. 
And then, her generous qualities ! which oft 
He makes his theme c)f praise ; too oft perhaps, 
Since I have learn'd to muse on them so junch. 



ACT III, SO. 1. 55 

I 11 question him of this. But where is be? [looking 
toicard the door, then relapsing into self-commn- 
nioii again. 
She must have lov'd him, had he sought her love : 
And it is right he should, — both right and best. 
Sigh ing.] My fingers thrill yet with lier touch. — My God ! 
Let me not, while I seek from Manfred's eyes 
To pluck the mote, grow very blind myself! — 
Queen of the Passions! [apostrophizing the Vemis. 

still thy natural sway 
Makes man forget his honor ! — No, not so ! 
Eeason shall aid him, where not willing-weak, 
Nor conscience torpid by a long neglect. — 
I '11 seek this loiterer. — What a soft, small hand ! 

[sighing. 
Manfred, where art thou ? 

In a melancholy to■ne.^^ Why wast thou away ? 

[Exit. 



56 THE SILVER HEAD 

Scene II. 

Saffise's parlor — Ah in Act II. Sr-. I. 

Helen and Saffise 

coming froin an inner room^ lohose door is visP>le. Hei.ex 
lias her hat and shatcl on. 

Hel. Now I liave seen those muslins, whicli I think, 
Saffise, will well become you, I must go. 
Remember! I shall help you make them up? 

Saff. Fo. "When you have so much to do, indeed ! 

Hel. Yes, but then what I do is all for pay. 

And I should like, so much, to do some work 
To help a friend, or merely for her love : 
My fingers would fly twice as fast. 

Saff. T '11 see. 
But why, dear, do you hurry so ? your brother 
Will call for you, you know. 

Ilel. But not so soon. 
I am not well [sighinf/.]; and but that I am so, 
My father never would have let me come: 
He thought 't would do me good. 'T is almost dark. 
Good-bye, Saffise. Ah I there is brother now I 

[delighted^ and moving as if to go. 
No, there are two. [recoiling. 



ACT III. SO. 2. 57 

Entei\ Manfred and Oscar. 

Maxfiif.d and Helen gaze at one another in mute amaze- 
ment^ which ill Manfred immediately changes 
to a look of dismay and sorrotc^ while 

Helen drops her eyes. 
Osc. [pulling Manf. aside. 

What say yoii now? [Going to Sqff".] Saffise. 

' Me touches Saffise on the shoulder as he 2}asses 

her and iechons to her tofolloic him to the inner room. 

She remonstrates with him in dumb-show. He gesticulates 

violently, hut tcithout noise, in retttrn, and after some 

further resistance, he 2^ushing her hy the arm, 

and ichispering, she reluctantly follows, 

lending her eyes on Manfred as 

she withdraws. 

The door closes tcithout noise on Oscar and Saffise. 

Manf, Miss Mattison [gravely. 

Hel. [who, from her position as well 
as emotion, is not aware of the 
retreat of Saffise. 

Sir! — I am going 

Manf. Stay! 

Helen, — [laying his hand on her arm. She trembles, 

and stands as if incapable of motion, but 

with her face still turned to the icings 

of the scene as in the act of going out. 

sadly.] AVliy are you here? 

[She looks up with surprise. 



58 THE SILVER HEAD 

Is this — SafRse — 
Is she your friend ? 

Hel. O yes ; I like her much. 
Manf. [in turn surprised. 

What a strange answer I [lool'S at Iter inquiringhj 
Do you visit lier — 
Here — often — in this house ? 

Eel. Not very often. 
This is the second time that I am here. 
I must go now — 't is getting dark. Saffise. [turning 

round. She starts. 

Where is slie gone? And sir, — your hrother 

[/« great alarm. 
She lools at Manfued once, earnestly, icho has his eyes ient 
on her, 7iis arms folded, then, rushes to go out. 

Manfred intercepts her. 

Manf. Stop. 

Answer me but one question ere you go. 
"What brouglit you to this place, my child? 

Hel. This place ? 
[looldiig around her toith increasirig 
terror, at which Manfred tales her 
hand, his expression losing its 
harshness. 
It is SafBse's room. She had me come 
To look at dresses she is making up. 
Manf. [eagerly.] Ah! Did she go for you — this girl? 

Hel. She did. 
[looling at him icitli fresh surprise. 



ACT III. SO. 2. 59 

I was not well [covfitsed.], and did not wish to come. 
Mavf. Why did you then? 

Eel. How could I, sir, refuse 
Such a slight favor! and my father thought 
My spirits would be better if I came. 
Was it then wrong ? and may I now go home ? 
Man/. [clasjnii(/ Iter hand, and gazing admiringly in Iter 
face, at which she shrinks. 
Go home? and wrong? you innocent child! go home? 
Yes, and I will go with you ; and you shall, 
Before I leave you, promise, Helen dear. 
Never to see again this wicked girl. 
Do not so tremble ! What have you to fear? 
Do you not see that I am with you now, 
I, Manfred Ferguson, and none beside? [xhe tremblea 

and lools round. 
What then shall harm you ? 

Jlel. O sir, let me go. 
Do not retain my hand ! and do not speak, 

do not, sir [hursting into tears.] in such a voice to me ! 

1 am very weak, you see, my nerves are shook. 
And though it shames me much, I needs must weei). 

Manf. God help you, Helen ! and God help me too ! 

For I am weak as you ; and here — alone ! 

[gazing at her passionately, and folding her 
hands in hoth of his. 
Hel. [endeavoring to extricate herself 

Sir — let us go, at once! — for Heaven's sake! 
For your sweet cousin's sake ! do let me go! 



00 THE SILVER HEAD 



Manf. My cousin's! Yes, yes, come! to stay 

Would make me, what I never yet liave been. 
And shame to speak — a liar of me ! Come. 
Are you wrapt warm? [timidly endeavoring to adjust 
her shawl. She treml>lett. 
this shawl is very thin. 
But yet, the niglit-air is not chill. And were it, 
'T were better face it than stay here. Come, come ! 
[He draws her arm throvgh his, and Exeiinf. 

Enter 

Oscar, bursting from the inner room, followed coolly hy 

Saffise, who shrugs her shoulders. 

Osc. Curse on your house ! 

Saff. Your folly, man, curse that! 
Did I not want to stay? 

Ose. V faith, you did! 
You hop'd to catch my brother in your nets. 
Saff. No matter what I hop'd, sir. Had we staid. 

Would those nice questions have been put, d' you think. 
Or the girl answer'd? 

Osc. How could I foresee 
The milk-and-water fool would parley thus? — 
The patriarch Joseph Avas a rake to liim! 
Saff. Goodness! d' you read the Bible? 

Osc. Do you dare 
To pass your jokes on me at such a time? 
Now, when my plans are all blown to the devil? 
Saff. I don't see that. You ruin'd me in the street, — 



ACT III. SC. 2. 61 



Met me there first, and then we met again, 

And from the street came houses, — and then came 

Saffise to be 

Osc. What Manfred may make Helen. 
I '11 follow the game, and see what comes of it. 

[Exit, impetuovuli/. 
Saff. And may you break your neck in the pursuit ! 
If scoundrels, like yourself, alone be men. 
We women had better marry our own kind, 
And save us from the sin of stocking Hell. 
Ali ! I 'd go there ten years before my time 
For one kiss from your "milk-and-water fool "! 
She mores to the inner-room door, and 
Scene closen. 



62 THE SILVER HEAD 



Scene III. 

A public square, with streets opening into it. It is nightfall, 
and the lamps are lighted. — Enter, from one of the 
streets on the left wing, and furthest in the depth of the 
stage, Maxfked a?i<:Z Helen. As they come forward to 
the centre of the square, Oscak is seen to issue from the 
same street, xcrapped closely in his cloak, with the collar 
dratcn round his cheeTcs, He skulks into the angle of the 
steps of one of the Jionses on the left, and remains there 
covered hy its shadow. 

Hel. Pray, do not, do not farther with me go? 

Yonder 's the street I live in [pointing to her rigltt. 

and not far. 
It is not right that you should see me home. 
My brother too will seek me. Should you meet I — 

[with alarm. 
O me ! it is a dreadful thing, to feel 
So guilty ! 

Manf. Guilty, Helen ? you ! And why ? 
Uel. I know not, — but I feel it must be wrong, 
To be with you — I should feel so asham'd 
To have the eyes that love me see me now. 

O sir, pray let me go ! I — sir Good night 

God bless you for your kindness! and —good night. 

[Going. 
Manf. Helen, [she stojis directly.] —dear Helen! [taking 

her hand. 



ACT III. SO. 3. 63 



I — It is so hard 
To part thus and — forever. [Helen hiirnU into tears. 
Do not cry ! 
Hel. O sir, forgive me ; it is very childish : 
It seems to me I have done nothing else 

But cry, by the hour, ever since 

Manf. I durst, 
"Weak, wicked that I was, avow my love. 
There, now the word is said, that never again. 
Never can be recall'd, — though thus to say it, 
To you, you innocent cliild, is deadly wrong, — 
Helen ! — dear Helen ! — Helen of my soul ! 
He already holds her hand 
in his left hand, and at these expressions of endearment, 
each of wJiich is tenderer in tone than the one that precedes it, 
he passes his right arm round her waist, 
and j)resses her to him. 
Say, if you must now leave me — and you must, 
'T is terrible risk to your pure fame to stay — 
Say you will come again. 

Hel. O no, no ! 

Manf No? 
Do you not love me tlien? [inournfully. 

Husli ! do not sob; 
Think, we are standing in the public street. 
Helen, [with dee}} tenderness. 

I know you love me. [His head droj^s over 
hers, and their faces seem to touch. 
Helen! [miti')nuring.] 



64 THE SILVER HEAD 



hissinr/ he?' passionaielj/.] love I 
Fo7' a moment, 
l>nth aeem overcome: then Manfred contimies, with ardor, 
hut still in a loio voice. 
Our breaths have mingled, and our souls are one: 
ISTo more you will refuse me ; now to part, 
After so brief a moment of delight, 
"Would be to kill us both with vain regret. 
You will come back to me ? 
Hel. [mournfully, yet with much tenderness. 

Alas! for what? 
Since parting is such pain — and oh, I own 

That it is very bitter — why again? 

Manf. "Would I renew it? Oh, because! Ask not! 

I know but that I have you with me now : 

To part with you forever Helen, speak! 

Could you endure it, and your lieart not break? 
ITel. Where then? and when? [m a low, agitated voice. 
Manf. Here, where we are. 
The moment you can come to me. 

Hel. O me ! 
My father! \in a t07ie of deep anguish. 

Never from his good, fond heart. 
Have I hid anything. Do not ask me ! pray, 
Do not ! indeed, indeed, I dare not ! I 
Should die of grief, to look on his white head. 
And feel in my heart I 'd done him such a wrong 
it is better in my lonely bed to weep 
For not having done it, than to weep it done ! 



ACT in. SC. 3. 



Manf. You are an angel! Yes, it is a sin 

To have concealments from the heart that trusts us, 
And trusts us for it thinks that we have none : 
And from a parent, folly it is as sin. 

Helen, I cannot lie Yet, oh ray God ! 

Have mercy ! it is but for once — but once ! 
Hel. O no, no, do not tempt me! do not! Sir — 
I — I am going — God — God bless you ever ! 

[endeavoring to leave him. 
Manf. Ah! 
You do not love me then ? 

Hel. O, I will come ! 
I will! do not say that ! Ijiuttinr/ her hands into his 

with great eagerhom. 
Manf. Heaven bless you now ! [He 
hisses her again^ folding her in his embrace. 
But, can you escape without its being known ? 

Hel. I shall go up to my room [bursting into tears. 

Manf Hush ! do not cry. 
Hel. I cry to think of my father — nothing more. 
Manf. Fear not; lie will not know it. — The house-door? 
Will not the noise betray you ? 

Hel. At that hour 
It never is bolted ; the room-doors are all clos'd. 
Yet, should they open, should my brother come 
Out in the passage, ere I pass the door! — ■ 
It is a fearful risk, [shuddering. 

Manf Do not think so. [jjressing her sooth- 
ingly to him. 



66 THE SILVEK HEAD 



Your soft light step, their dreaming uot of this, 

The winti-y night, and the dark hall Is 't dark? 

Hel. Yes, there is no light burning there ; we are pooi', 
Manf. Hush, darling! It is Manfred that you speak to. 
Rel. And oh, it is for that, I should not come I 
Manf. Hush, hush again ! [hissing her. 

When will this be? what hour? 
Hel. The soonest I can take. Be near the door 
Within an hour, say, from now. But oh, 
You never will ask this of me again ? 
Promise it, or I come not ! 

Manf. By my soul — 
By honor, by my God, and by — our love ! [again 

kissing her. 
Hel. And you will not detain me long ? 

Manf No, no ; even now 
I hurry you off: go, Helen ; or no, come! [putting her 

arm binder his. 
Hel. But at the head of the street, we part. 

Manf. And then. 
I follow you till I see you in your home. 
Hel. Bat not too near. Ah see ! see what a thing 
It is to be so guilty ! 

Manf. Helen, peace! [softly. 
The guilt is mine ; for you are innocent still, 
And yield to this deception for my sake — 
For my love, Helen, is it not? 

[embracing and kissing her again. 
Ah ves! 



ACT III. SC. 3. 7 

ITever shall you repent it. And now come. 

They move diagonally 

across the scene^ arm in arm ; and Oscar, 

at the moment^ comes out from his hiding-place, and folloits 

them cautiously, yet near enough to hear 

the final tcords. 

In less than an hour from now, remember, sweet, 
Manfred will wait vou. 

They part at the corner, 

or wiiig of the scene, in the remotest part of the stage. 

Oscar again receding into the shadoic, though now on the 

right hand, until Helen disappears, and, 

after a moment, MANFREoyJ^ZZows, ichen 

Oscar comes forward again. 

Osc. Like a dog, in the street. 
I thought the pretty scene would never have done. 
Pest on the fellow ! And I must wait still, 
To know where this rare meeting is to be, 
And when; for nothing could I hear but this: 
''Manfred will wait you." How egregious fine! 
Could not the gentleman have said, / HI wait? 
So much for having a fine name ! Now, had 
Our father — but pei'haps it was our dam 
Was so romantic in her tastes — but chosen 
To call you Tom, I think you had been more plain. 
Thomas will wait you, would have sounded rare ! 
Pomposity! — But wlio the devil is this? 



68 THE SILVER HEAD 

He has been moving hack again to 
the left^ and now, with his hack to the 
audience, is about encountering RiciiARn 
Mattisox, xoho is seen coining from the street at 
lohich Manfred an^<Z Hklex, and finally himself had 
appeared. At this moment, Vincent, muffled in a Span- 
ish cloaJc, hut with his face uncovered, issues from the same 
side of the scene, — hut close to the p)Toscenium, as Oscar 
and Richard are farthest in the haclcground. Vin- 
cent is about to 2^nss in front, as Oscar speaJrs 

in a loud tone. 

Oh, Mattison, it 's you, is 't ! 

Vincent starts at the name, looks at them a moment, then 

eagerly muffling his face with the cloah, 'moves over the 

stage, toward the quarter where Manfred avd 

Helen have disappeared, passing directly in 

front, the whole breadth of the scene, then 

turning straight up on the right, but 

very slowly, and eying from time 

to time the farty, over the 

muffle of his cloalc. 

You 're too soon. 
Rich. I know it, but I come now from a place 
Where I had look'd to find my sister. But, 
Your brother, sir, it seems, was earlier there. 
Osc. True. 

Rich. How ? You knew it ? 

Osc. Only now, i' faith. 
He saw her home, and, with her on his arm, 



ACT in. sc. 3. 69 



Pass'd - Lalf an liour ago. 

Rich. Good night. 

Osc. Eh, stop ! 
Did you not hear me ? half an iioui" ago. 
Your sister is by this time snug at home. 
Rich. I know not that, [still endeavoring to go. 

Osc. But I do ; for my brother 
I left just now at the house. So, you will see, 
You will not find him as you think. Now go, 
And wait me at the place you know of. Go ; 
I '11 follow you in a minute. 

Rich. Why not now ? 
Osc. 0, I 've a fancy of my own detains me. [signiji- 

cantlij. 
It shall not be for long. A word, a kiss. 
The little flatterer 's soon put off, you know. 
And a new night will serve her turn as well. 
There go. 

Rich. Ah, ah ! you are a sad rake ! 

Osc. I! 
'Faith, if I be, my teeth are open, though. 

Rich. Yes, and for that I like you : not as 

Osc. Go! 
[pushing him off. 
I am busy now, I tell you. And besides, 
Tease me, and, sir, I will not come at all ; 
And that would be your loss, — for, hark! I have 
news. 
Rich. What ! of the villain's 



VO THE SILVER HEAD 



Osc. Of my brother, sir. 
You '11 please remember that, and be less rude. 
I league with you in pity of your sister, 
In charity for yourself, and for your sire : 
No further. 

Rich. Pardon me. 

Osc. There go. 
OscAE turns his hach, as if his 2mrpose icere to pursue the way 
he icas taking ichen they met, and Richard turns off at 
the right tcing, close to the jyroscetiiujn. A'incent 
immediately follows, and disappears in the same 
direction, hefore Osoar again returns. 
Another 
Of the predestinate asses ! A mere boy, 
That thinks my roughness openness : to him ! 
Open to him! [with an expression of the most intense 

contempt.'] But, 'faith, he was well off, 
For here comes Manfred now. 

[looking toward the quarter ichere Manf. had 
made his exit with Helen. 

Had they but met, 
Simplicity again had o'ermatcli'd cunning: 
These candid people soon make darkness light. 

Re-enter Maxb'rkd. 

"What, Manfred ! you ? Where have you left the girl ? 
You just miss'd falling foul of her own brother. 
How pale you are ! "What ails you ? Why not speak ! 
Manf. [grasping hLf hand and speaking solemnly. 



ACT III. SC. 3. Vl 

I have seen a sight 

Osc. The devil you have I A ghost ? 

Man/. Don't mock me, Oscar; 't is no time for jest. 

Tlad you hut seen I '11 tell you : listen. When 

I liad left tliat innocent girl -^— But, by the by, 
You must admit you did traduce her vilely. 

Saffise was not 

Osc. In that point, I admit 
I was deoeiv'd. Go on now. When you left 

Man/. Poor Helen at her home, the parlor-light 

Shone through a half-clos'd shutter. The desire 
To see her face once more, to see her too 
"When unaware a lover's eye was watching. 
And in her family-circle unrestrain'd, 
Seem'd nowise wrong, nor its indulgence mean. 
I stoop'd to the crevice. By a table sat 
A reverend man, of mien more apostolic 
Than ever painter drew. A length of hair. 
Glistening and white as silver, downAvard floated 
In waves to his very shoulders ; and his brow, 
'Whether the book he read from so inspir'd, 
Or 't was the habitual feeling of his soul. 
His brow, and the sweet outline of his lips. 
Spoke of true nobleness, candor without guile. 
brother, when I saw this sight, my heart 
Reproach'd me for its weakness, and Remorse 
Seem'd to have blanch'd those locks for only me. 
What then, when suddenly the parlor- door 
Flew open, and poor Helen, rushing in, 



72 THE SILVER HEAD 



Threw her arms round tlie old man's neck, and wept! 
Ose. You saw it? 

Manf. Yes ; he raisM her head, the light 
Glanc'd on her tears. — Then words wereinterchang'd, 
And Helen heavily sigh'd. — 

Osc. You heard her ? 

Manf. No; 
Her bosom visibly heav'd. The old man then 
Laid his hand gently on her head, and parting 
The beautiful hair upon her forehead, kiss'd it. 
She took a lamp — her hand so shook, poor girl, 
She could not light it, and the old man lielp'd her — 
And to the door went Helen, tearful. — 

Osc. Ah ! {affecting 
a sigh of relief frvm fatigue. 
The air is chilly. 

Manf Is it? {abstractedly.'] — But behold! 
"With sudden impulse coming back, she fell 
At the old man's feet upon her knees, her face 
Hid in her hands, which folded on his lap. 
She seem'd to ask his blessing ; for, uplifting 
His tremulous hands and glistening eyes to Heaven, 
He said aloud — I heard him through the pane — 
'"Bless her, thou God of justice! bless my child! 
And on her innocent spirit let not sin 
Drop its decaying mildew ! from her brow 
Let Care remove its shadow, and her eyes 
Sparkle once more with happy light; for Thou, 
Thou knowest, ray God, how very pure she is. 



ACT III. SC. 3. /3 

How true her life lias been to Thee and ine! 

On her sad pillow, let Thy angels' wings 

This night shed slumber, fanning to repose 

Her troubled spirit, and her shatter'd nerves — 

Too weak for their sore trial — making whole ! 

So shall her heart have strength to bear its load. 

Help, God our Father ! help my child ! Amen!" 
Osc. Excellent poetry ! And the result? 
Man/. Are you so cruel ? — Hear then the result. 

That Silver Head has sav'd both her and me. 

This night I am to meet her. Should she come! — 

Those white locks shall be round lier like a veil, 

Nor shall my passion lift it. 

Osc. What means that ? 

Where were you then to meet her? at what time? 
Manf Within an hour, here, in the public street. 
Osc. Choice place ! What purpose would such folly serve ? 
Manf. To make me madder ! for a moment fill. 

To leave it emptier than before, that void, 

Which in my heart keeps aching ever, ever, 

With a sick pang, when Helen is away ; 

A pang, I fancy, he who knows not, Oscar, 

Never has 

Osc. Been a man of blood and brains. 

'T is the old story : sensual sensation, 

A gnawing natural as the lust to dine. 

You are not made to starve, and will fare well. 

But next time, Manfred, when you spread your table, 

Let it not be, as now, alfresco. 



74 THE SILVER HEAD 



Manf.. Peace! 
You speak of Helen ; and you speak to me. 
I am not Oscar ; nor is she Saffise. 
Osc. No, but you both are human. Else, why meet ? 
Manf. Because I ask'd her. Ilaply, had we met, 
Unheard that voice, those silver hairs unseen. 
Conscience and Keason might have wept it. Now, 
"We part at once, or — never shall part more. 
Obc. When was your blood made water? I've forgotten. 
Manf. Ah! Hear me then. I swear it — by high Heaven ! 
You know my faith, how sacred ; had I sworn 
To kill her, I had stabb'd her with this hand. — 
Now sleep in peace, thou venerable man ! 
No dust shall soil those silver locks for me, 
Nor Helen's young heart break with grief of sin ! 

[Exit, at the left of the scene, nearest the 
proscenium — the quarter ichence Vincent 
had entered. Oscar regards him with 
supreme contempt till he disappears. 
Osc. ''Now sleep in peace, thou venerable man!" — 
What a fine thing to have poetic brains ! — 
"Helen's young heart!" — You are not Oscar? [with 

a tone of deep malignity.] No ; 
Nor am I Manfred. Go ! For all that 's said, 
I'll ruin you both, despite the Silver Head. 

[Exit, at the right, where Richard had disap' 
peared, and the 

Drop fiUs. 



ACT IV. sc. 1. 75 



Act the Fourth 
Scene I. SyhiVs boudoir, as in Act /., 3c. IT. 

Sybil. 

She ap2^ears to hare just entered. 

Syi. [looking j^ensively at the broken Jlowers tchich still 
strew the floor. 
Emblems indeed ! How soon these scented leaves, 

\lifting one of them. 
° Whose delicate freshness shrivels at ray touch, 
"Will lie so wither'd, never heat nor cold, 
Nor moisture, sensibly will affect them more ! 
Yet for a while their perfume still survives — 
Their unseen virtue. Even so, poor Helen, 
' Thy sensitive heart, that quivers at the touch 
Of its new passion, thrown thus under foot, 
Will take like changes. Yet, a just God grant 
Its precious fragrance may not quit the flower, 
While yet a leaf remains ! — Strange, partial world ! 
Plac'd but as I, had Helen been — how blest! 
And yet ° — perhaps her lowly state, contrasted 
With her so delicate air, and artless grace, 
And her exceeding guilelessness of soul. 
Makes irresistible what else might fail. 



16 THE SILVER HEAD. 



'T is this scope of a power, for him and her 
So dangerous, renders Helen's fate so hard. 
And I, unfortunate, who drew her hitlier, 
Meaning but good, yet doing fatal harm ! 

[Si>il:s into abstraction^ gazing on the 
sea ttered flower-leaves. 

Enter Manfred. 

Manf. [Smiling sadly. 

"What, cousin, musing on your misused gift! 
Syh. Musing to moralize. 

Man/ On Helen's fate. 
Even as you said before. — I might so t(jo. [taking 

up some of the leaves. 
Broken unwittingly, broken by a hand 
That lov'd in other times to use you well. 
Flowers, in whose fragile forms the spirit of beauty 
Made rapturous worship for the impassion'd heart, 
Nor God dissented, — broken by my hand, 
Who can unite your scatter'd leaves again ? 

[He drops the petals.^ and clasps his hands earncsth/. 
O ! 't was an oath well sworn ! 

Syh. Wliat was? and when? 

Manf. Ah, Sybil ! I have seen — have that to tell ! 

Hush? 't is our uncle ; we must be alone. 

Enter Sik Hesky. 

Sir H. At last, my dear boy ! And where have you been ? 
It was not well, nor was it done like Manfred, 



ACT IV. SO. 1. 77 

To leave without excuse your friend alone, — 
Oscar too gone. But what is rather odd, 
Vincent, the moment he is given to know 
Yourself and Oscar have gone out together, 
Mutters his own excuses, and is off! 
Manf. Indeed! He fears to trust me; [to himself. 

and has cause. 
Sir H. Are you so slippery ? And, in truth, I see, 
Now I look at you, all is not quite well. 
But I am nowise curious, — nor need be : 
With such a Mentor, though his beard 's still brown, 
My good Telemachus cannot travel wrong, 
Even where such Circes intercept his way. [twining 
Ms fingers affectionately in one of SyMVs curls. 
Si/b. Strange compliment! Good uncle, you are dull 
As Manfred's Mentor at a flattering speech. 
Oh that I had the enchantress' cup awhile, 
To put a bristling hide on both your backs ! 
Sir H. 'T would be no new requital for the pains 
Men take to please, to steal away their minds ; 
Would it be, Manfred ? 

Manf. [vacantly — starting from, a fit of deep 
abstraction. 
Sir? 
Sir H. [shahing his head Icnowingly at Sybil. 
'T is done already. 
Come, you will make a poor Ulysses' heir; 
You play Elvino better ; Circe here 
Shall chamre to sweet Amina. I am come, 



78 THE SILVER HEAD 



In fact to lead you to the music-room : 
Uncle must have liis favorite Scene again, — 
Tutto e sciolto ! 

Manf. Pray excuse me, sir. 
Sybil will take some other part, alone. 
To sing well sadly, one's heart must be gay. 
To bid, in song, adieu for evermore 
To consolation and the light of love, 
"Would not be easy, cousin, for me now. 

[looking appealingly to Sybil. 
Syh. Not if the song and truth must needs be one. 
But then, Rubini never had grown fat. 
Manfred jsresses the ends of her fingers ; and they 
go out thus, hand in hand. 
Sir. H. [loitering. 

Ah ! this looks well ! I shall be blest at last. 
And Sybil's heirs will bear her uncle's name. 
And such an offspring! 'T will outshine the stars. 

[^Exit, after them. 



ACT IV. SC. 2. 19 



Scene II. 

A room in a tavern. 
A lighted lam,]) suspended from the ceiling. 

Richard Mattison is seen standing with his hat on and 
tack to the fireplace., his hands in the pockets of his over- 
coat : Vincent walking up and down with his arms 
folded, his cloak and hat still on. — "Vincent is at the 
furthest end of the roo^n, and with his hack to the audi- 
ence, as 

Enter, Oscar. 

Osc. [throicing hack his cloak and taking off his hat, both 
ofwJiich he tosses on a table which is standing 
in the middle of the room. 
You see I have not kept you waiting long. 
And now, to work. [As he faces about, sees Vincent. 
Wliat 's this? Whom have you here? 
Vincent turns and looks at him steadily, 
his arms still folded. 
Vincent ! 

Rich. The gentleman profess'd to have 
Some business with you too, and would coine in. 

As Richard speaks, Vincent throws off 

his cloak deliberately, and lays it and his hat 

on the table where Oscar's are: Richard still standing, 

with his hat and overcoat on, without 

shifting i^is position. 



80 THE SILVER HEAD 



Osc. Fool ! 't is my brother's friend and prompter I 
liich. A scoundrel's friend, and prompter for the Devil ! 
Vin. Indeed? [maJcmg directly toioard him with a deter- 
mined air : Eich., with eqtial resolution, liif 
icith more violeiiee^ rushiiig to meet him. 
Oscar steps hetween them. 
Osc. Stop! Loth of you : this quarrel 's mine. 
First, sir, for you, [turning severely to Rich. 

let me not have' again 
To bid you, when my brother is your theme, 
To characterize him by some milder name. 
And now, sir, \to Vine, with a malignant smile. 

what occasion brings you here ? 
To gloss for me tlie " truth without a flaw .?" 
Vin. To find its illustration, rather say ; 

To penetrate the schemes, and make tliem null, 
Of a false friend and brother, and reopen 
The eyes of this rash boy [indicating Rich, hy a, slight 

motion of the head. 
your arts have clos'd. 
Osc. [jyutting coolly hach, with the palm of his hand, Rich' 
ard.1 who.1 at these words.; is rushing upon Vincent. 
And did your wisdom calculate the risk 
Of this ambition to enact the spy, 
Or think what heavy premium must be paid 
For insight into schemes, which — say they be — 
Can not concern you anywise at all ? 
Vin. For spying.^ sir, my open dealing now 

Makes that sneer harmless : ha<l I been dispoa'd, 



ACT IV. SC. 2. 81 

I might have gain'd my object ere you came, 
And spar'd this person \loohing at Rich. 

cause for deep regret. 
For risk, who knows me well as you, should know, 
"What Theodore Vincent's plain sense may advise 
For Manfred's good, ttiat does he as the friend 
Of Manfred, and at once, nor counts the risk. 
Ohc. That we shall see. \icith a meaning smile. 
Here, Mattison, go up 
To the billiardroom above us, draw aside 
The keeper of 't, who happily keeps too 
A shooting-gallery ; give him this gold piece, 
Mention my name, and bid him give you straight 
His two best weapons, with a flask and balls, 
And keep his tongue about it. 
Rich, [with asto7iishment and Kome degree of alarm. 

Do you mean it ? 
Osc. Look at us both ; [glancing round to Vincent. 
then ask me, if you can, 
If I be serious. Go. [Exit Richard. 

Vin. And what by this 
Does Mr. Oscar Ferguson propose ? 
Osc. To do that now, which I had meant to-morrow 
To do in a colder field. Our fingers here 
Will be more flexible, although the light [looking care- 
lessly up at the lamp. 
Is not, i' faith, so brilliant as the sun. 
Vin. [sternly.'] Sir, do you think, because yourself are mad. 
That I am too ? 



82 THE SILVER HEAD 



Osc. Oh no, I am aware 
That Mr, Vincent's wisdom, or " plain sense," 
Knows well the difference betwixt giving insult 
And making reparation for it. 

Vin. Ah! — 
But no ! you shall not force me into crime, 
Nor to such folly as would make me lose 
Both the woi-ld's revei-ence and your brother's love. 
I have enough of courage to dare leave. {laying his 

hand on his cloak to lift it from the taile. 
Osc. [putting his own hand on the same. 

You came, sir, uninvited, and you go 
Without obtaining what in hopes to gain 
You scrupled not to lay good manners by. 
But I am hospitable, "and entreat, insist. 
That you will deign to make yourself at home. 
Wait Mattison's return, and put him all 
Such questions as you like ; when that is done, 
In honor of your struggle with good-breeding, 
And freedom won from tyranny of shame. 
We will together fire fxfeu-de-joie. 
Suddenly cha7iging his manner to a perfect seriousness., loith- 
out rudeness or impertinence. 
Sir, Mr. Vincent, men report you wise, 
And honorable, and brave, and that all this 
You are, and more, does Manfred love to think. 
I will now put those qualities to proof. 
This day I have borne gross insults from you twice ; 
First, in my brother's presence. — 



ACT IV. SO. 2. 83 

Viii. [coldhj and calmhj.] 'T was iirovok'd. 

Osc. Be it so ; still an insult. And now here, 
Before a fellow neither of us knows. 
You are no bigot, sir, I will presume, 
And, giving, in the fashion of the world, 
Mortal offence, will not deny you are bound 
To give such satisfaction for the affront 
As 't is the fashion of the world to claim? 

Vin. I do not. 

Osc. [eagerlyl] Then, to-morrow you had met. 
As a brave man and honorable should. 
The challenge I was fully bent to send ? 

Vin. As a brave man and honorable should, 

"Who has no fear to do the thing that 's right, 
Refus'd to fight the brother of my friend. 

Osc. My brother well might pity, but not love 
A coward. 

Vin. Sir! — Enough. I '11 meet yon. 

Osc. [joyfully.1 Good. 
To a brave man all times are equal : now 
"Will serve as well as to-morrow. 

Enter Riohard, 
'bearing the weapons, hiccosed in the usual case. 

To Richard.] Set them down. 
Vin. [indignantly.'] No sir, now will not serve. I am no 
brawler 
To fight in a tavern-room, no seconds by. 



84 THE SIL.VER HEAD 



If yon have no regard to name, I have. 
To-morrow I will meet you, where you will. 
Osc. And that is, nowhere. Go. Be off! I thouglit 
To fight with a man : but you are none. There, go. 
[flinging his cloah to Vincent, insultingly, so 
that it strikes him heavily on the shotilder 
and in the face. 
Vin. [sternly to Richard. 

Sir, bolt the door. [To Oscar.^ I am ready. 

[and he lays down the cloalc. — Again 
to Richard, hut mildly. 
I know not 
Aught of you, Mr. Mattison, nor why 
You are present here, save what I can conjecture. 
And too well, from your name. Quite unprovok'd, 
You have insulted me most grossly ; this 

I do forgive you 

Rich. Sir — [^impatiently. 

Vin. Be not impatient ; 
What I liave yet to say is briefly this : 
If I should fall in this disgraceful conflict, 
I charge you, as a man, to tell the world. 
That Theodore Vincent, with his latest breath. 
Protested against such a fight, and yielded 
Only at last to shun a worse disgrace. 
Osc. [opening the case, and tahing out the weapons as he 



And should I fall, see that you hawk about 
My dying-confession and last speech as this: 



ACT IV. SC. 2, 85 

That Oscar Ferguson would shoot his foe 
Wherever he found him, but, being shot himself, 
Felt quite as well content his blood should so.ik 
A carpet as bedabble a green field, [takes out the flask 

and halls. 
Rich, [apparently horror-strucl\ 

Gentlemen ! this is horrid ! must not be ! — 
Sir [to Yin.'] — Mr. Ferguson [to Osc.'] — • 

Ose. [tahiiig out the caps from the hottom of the 
2)0icder-flasl\ and examining then). 
Will you hold your tongue ? 
Else, leave the room, and let us fight alone. 
Rich, [angrily.'] I 'd have you, Mr. Ferguson, remember, 
In ordering me, that I am not your slave. 
I shall remain, for Mr. Vincent's sake. 
As much as for your own. But pray, be civil. 
Osc. [carelessly, and, as hefore, without turning his head. 

Pardon. [To Vin.] You load for me, and I for you. 

Which weapon will you take ? They seem alike. 

[looTcing at them, as he holds them, icith the 
air of a connoisseur, then handing them 
loth to Vin. 
Vin. This, which is next me, then, [taking it. 

Ose. The one that 's left 
I charge for you. [handing Vin. the j^oioder-jlask. 

But now, that I reflect, 
Had we not better go above ? the noise 
Will cause no wonder in the gallery. 

Vin. No; 



THE SILVER HEAD 



If 't must be thus, it may as well be here : [charging 

his weapon. 
To liglit the shooting-room would cost us time. 
Ose. And others than yourself have none to spare. 

[loolcing first at his watch., and then 
significantly to Rich. 
Make haste. The ball and mallet, sir. [handing them., 
and talcing in turn the flash. 
But, stay : 
Above, the shots may be repeated ; here. 
At the first sound, the house may be upon us. 
We had better, sir, adjourn. 

Vin. Perhaps adjourn 
For good. Proceed ; or you will make me think 
You want your brother's courage, as his honor. 
Osc. Ah ! I deserv'd that ; 't is a fair return, [ramming 

home his charge. 
Ihe mallet ? have you done ? [ Vin. hands it. 

One shot may do. 

[forcing in the hall. 
But who the devil is there? [the door violently shook 

from within. 
The cap, sir, quick. 
{handing it to Vin., and fitting one on his own iceapon. 
Don't mind it, Mattison. [the door shaken still more 

violently. 
Are you ready, sir? [To Vin. 
— They exchange iceapons. 
Choose your own corner. 



ACT IV. SC. 2. 87 

Vincent rapidly places himself at the left angle, 

while Oscar tahes as quichly the corner diagonally opposite, 

and which is close to the door that is still shaking 

from the efforts made loithin. 

We liave just the space. 
One, two, three, fire. Quick ; call, sir. [to Rich. — 
The door is hurst oijen, and, rushing in. 

Enter Meddleham. 

Medd. No you don't ! 
Coming against Oscak, the impetus given 
him hy the resistance of the door throws down the former, 
whose pistol explodes. 
You 're in a hurry, my fine fellow. 

Osc. [rising, and striking passionately icith 
the iceapon a,t Medd., who avoids the 
How, xchich sends Oscar stagger- 
ing jjast him. 
Fool! 
Take that for interfering. Mattison, 
Why do you rush between us? knock him down, 
Or tumble him from the room. Curse on you, sir ! 
Will you go out? [endeavoring to turn Medd. out. 
Medd. [struggling to disengage himself. 
What name was that you said ? 
Mattison? [in a tone of surp>rise. 

Vin. [who has laid doicn his weapon and 2>ut on 
his cloak. 
Mr. Ferguson, good night. 



88 THE SILVER HEAD 



The play is ended here: you may renew it, 
Even when you please ; but on a fitter stage. 

\^Exit^ hat ill handi — while Richard hastily re- 
stores the implements to the cane, and hurries 
out with it. Oscar lets go of Meddleham, 
tcho seems to talce the affair in 2>erfect 
good part^ tchile Oscar gazes on him 
with both rage and surprise. 
Medd. Ferguson too ! Why what the dense is this ? 

Which one is Ferguson ? Are you, sir, he ? 
Osc. (An odd fisli this!) I am, sir, at your pleasure. 

[howing sarcastically. 
Is it to kick you from the room at once. 
Or first to beat you handsomely, to teach you 
A meddler gets less thanks than broken bones? 
Medd. You have not hit it quite, sir, there : my name 
Is Meddleham, not Meddler ; 't is so spell'd. 
That is to say ; but people choose to call it, 
And so my grandsire did among the rest, 
Middleum. As for broken bones, young man. 
Perhaps Ralph Meddleham gives as well as takes. 
Osc. Will you then give me, sir,, the satisfaction 
To see Ralph take himself out of this room. 
I pay for it, and want no meddlers here. 
Whether their hams be Middle hams or Meddles. 
Medd. That 's right enough, although 't is wrongly said. 
But first, my young impertinent, will 't please you 
Who are so ready with your fist and pistol. 
Or boast to be, to tell me if you be 



ACT IV. SC. 2. 89 

One of the nephews of Sir Henry here, 
Old Colonel Ferguson ? 

Osc. [surprised.'] What 's that to you ? 
Medd. More than you think, and much to you besides. 
You are not Manfred, surely ? 

Osc. What comes next? 

[to Jiimself. 
Truly, I am. [after looTcing for a moment narrowly at 
Medd.] What then? 

Medd. Why then this world 
Is still more given to lying than I had thought it. 

[Exit. 
Osc. [solus.] Then has your charity outweighed your 
brains. — 
Meddleham — Middleura — Ralph — Who can this be? 

[thoughtfully. 
Yet, now I think, the name resembles one 
That when a child I heard my mother mention. 
Whatever though the intruder has to do 
With me or Manfred, this I thank him for, 
For bursting-in that door ere quite too late ; 
For, whether I had shot Vincent, or he me. 
My schemes to-night had equally fallen through. 
I must command this temper. But what keeps 
That would-be man. Miss Nelly's saucy brother, 
So long away? [loolung at his icatch.] A genteel 

second that ! 
It had read well in the prints, a petty clerk. 
Of some small warehouseman, sole Avitness 'tween 



90 THE SILVER HEAD 



The fashionable Vincent and myself! — 

How well though Vincent bore himself ! 'T is strange : 

My hate for him was mortal : since I find 

The man has blood like other men, and nerve — 

Devilish good nerve too! — should we never fight, 

The disappointment will not make me thin. 

But where 's this stripling ! Heaven send, as yet, 

He have not shot himself! Mj work once done. 

He may as soon as he pleases, and so spare 

Some better man the task of ridding him 

Of brains he never uses. I must see. 

[ Goes to the door, and opens it, to listen. Thi 
Scene closes on him in the act. 



ACT IV. SC. 3. 91 

Scene III. 
Saffise''s parlor — as in Act 11.^ 8c. I. 

Saffise, alone, 

reclining on the couch. A plaiji lamj) hurning 

on the table. 

Saff. [sjjringing up. 

I'll do it! I will, I will, I will. The wretch 

\comes forward. 
Shall not make me his tool, to fling avvaj 
Like a broken chisel, when I've serv'd his turn ; 
Cursing me too while using me, because 
He has no skill for his work. The bungling knave ! 
I'll^cut his fingers for him, to the bone ! — 
Now let me see : if Helen has been weak 
Like other girls, and Oscar's brother's blood 
Is half as hot as it should be from his looks, 
All 's over, and the Colonel's favor is lost. 
The more fool he, to cut his darling off 
For kissing a pale-fac'd girl without his leave ! 
A thing he has often done himself, I 'd swear, 
And never ask'd his nephews how they lik'd it. 
But Oscar shall gain nothing by the chance. 
Except what he deserves, — a traitor's pay. 
To exjiose hira, it is true, will shame myself; 
And so he thinks I will not. He shall find, 
Saffise will be reveng'd at any cost ! 



92 THE SILVER HEAD 



SaflBse, the '■'■slut''': I have not forgot the words. 
My God, how should I ! — " that this gentle girl 
Should mal:e a playmate of a slut lilce meP'' 
Ah ! they shall cost him dear. I'll tell it all, 
I will — on the instant — if the " gentle girl " 

\with bitterness. 
Herself is standing by, and the poor slut 
Is turn'd into the street with shame — I will! 

\swaying herself on her toes, her figure rising 
and falling with every clause, as she ges- 
ticulates j)assionately. Walking up, 

toicard the door of the inner room. 
They '11 not refuse to let me see Sir Henry. 
Should he be there — the brother of my Turk ! — 

[taTces vp) the lamp and goes before a mirror. 
How dull my eyes look ! I could tear them out. 
It is this lock of hair that has got misplac'd. 

[endeavoring to arrange it. 
I '11 let it all out ; it looks vilely, all. 
Lets down the whole of her hair ; then gathers it together in 
her hands, and begins to dress it in the manner 

of her sex. 
But everything seems wrong! [letting it all dotcn 

again. 
This paltry shawl! 
[talcing it pettishly off 
One of my master^s gifts — mean like himself. 

[thrusts it from her icith her foot. 
I '11 make my toilet over — liair and all. 



ACT IT. SC. 4 93 

Oh, that I were as Helen I [coming down, in her dis- 
array. 
Could I win 
But one of those sweet words he spoke to her, 
But one look from his beautiful, thoughtful eyes. 
One look that did not mock me like his brother's, 
I 'd make of my hair a cloth to dust his shoes. 
I would ! I 'd be the vilest thing in the world, 
So I might for an hour sit at his feet, 
And hear him say, Saffi.se, you are no slut ! 
She sohs, and drawing her hair lefore her eyes, uses it to 
staunch her tears ; and the scene closes on her 
thus standing. 



SOEXK IV. 

The jJfirlor at Mattison'^s, as in Act II., Sc. II. 

Mattisox and MEnoLEHAM, 

seated hy a taole lighted hy a plain but shaded lamp. 

Matt. Yes, that is very true ; my father's sister 
Marry'd a Meddleham. 

Medd. Who was my father. 
Matt. "We are then cousins? {extending his hand cordially 

to Medd. 



94 THE SILVEE HEAD 



Medd. {talcing itfranhly and heartily.'] Happily, I trust, 
For both of us, when you know all. Enough 
For the time present, that, except your own, 
And one more family, of which anon, 
I am lonely in the world now, and am come 
A weary, weary way from the Far West, 
To lay my old bones with you, if you will. 
But tell me now, how many, cousin Mark, 
You have in family besides your son. 
Matt. One only, but an angel upon earth, 
If ever were. 

Medd. A daughter then ? And pretty ? 
Matt. Beautiful ! as a star in a winter's night. 
But not more beautiful than good. O sir, 
Her graces and her virtues are the rose 
Blossoming in a wilderness to me, 
Making all garden and perpetual bloom. 
Medd. Where is she ? Sha' n't I see her ? 

Matt. Not to-uiglit : 
She came home from her daily work, poor child, 
Earlier than usual and exceeding sad, 
And is but now retired. 

Medd. Her daily work ! 
You are poor then? [tcith a hind of exultation.^ and 
looking alout him, on the furnitur'e 
of the room, &c. 
Matt, [gravely.'] We complain not. Are you glad ? 
Medd. Glad it is in my power to do you good ; 

Glad You shall see to-morrow! And her name? 



ACT IV. SC. i. 95 

Matt. Helen. 

Medd. My mother's 1 

Matt. Thence deriv'd. 

3Iedd. That 's well. 
IIow I shall love her ! [rulhing his hands. 

Would I were as sure 
Of her fine brother ; but the friends I see 
The young man leag'd with do not promise much. 
Matt. Howf Mr, Meddleham ! 

Medd. Bah ! call me Ralph. 
D' you think, man, that because I have liv'd away. 
And never look'd upon your face before, 
You are unknown to me ? I have cherish'd long 
A world of love, that now has grown so big 
My bosom would not hold it : so I came 
To vent it all upon its proper objects, 
On you and yours, and other kin besides. 
"Why, cousin Mark, I knew your Helen's name 
And Richard's long ago, and if I ask'd 
Those questions of the girl, 't was but to sound 
Your own affection, and to ascertain 
If private rumor had reported well. 
Besides, they tell me that I have a trick 
Of questioning people where I should be dumb. 
But if I had not, how should I be wise? 
Matt. But my boy, Richard ? He is rash, I know, 
And very wilful, yet his morals still 
Have seem'd correct: what were those friends you 
mean ? 



96 THE SILVER HEAD 



Medd. One Manfred Ferguson — 

Matt What ! Heaven forbid ! 
[in ')iiuch alarm. 

Medd. And so say I, although 't is ratlier late : 
For of all impudent fellows I ever met 
This Master Manfred will bear off the palm. 

Matt. You dream ! you are misled ! "What Manfred '3 
this ? 

Medd. The Colonel's nephew, old Sir Ilenry's here 
The name is not so common, I should think. 

Matt. Manfred ! Why he 's a hero of romance, 
A pattern of the rarest qualities 
Of head and heart a man can well possess. 
I said not " Heaven forbid !" because of that : 
I would to Heaven he were my Richard's friend ! 

Medd. Then you must want to bring your Richard up 
A duelist, or a champion of the ring : 
For, hark you, Mark, your " hero of romance " 
Offer'd to kick me, try'd to beat my brains out, 
And came near putting a bullet through my leg. 

Matt. This is some strange mistake ! Explain it : where 
Was this? 

Medd. There 's no mistake at all, save what 
Those wise ones fell into, who tauglit me too 
This Manfred was a hero of romance — 
Such a romance as Tom Crib might have writ ! 
Hear then. 

The time being heavy on my hands, 
I stroU'd this evening to the billiardroom 



ACT IV. sc. i. 97 

Of the hotel where I had just jnit up. 
Presently comes a young man in great haste, 
His features ruffled strangely, takes aside 
The keeper of the room, slips in his hand 
Some money, whispers, and they both go out. 
Following in a little while, I see them 
Descending, both, the stairs that led above. 
The young man having in his hands a case 
Of questionable shape. They part ; and then. 
Coming more near, I hear the man observe, 
"Remember ! 't is no fault of mine, sir !" — " None," 
Answers the youth : " Say nothing, that is all !" 
This youth was Richard Mattison, your son. 

Matt. God help me ! What is coming ? 

Medd. So said I, — 
And watching stealthily the young man's course, 
And following at a proper distance, came 
To a room of the floor below he just had enter'd. 
Almost immediately the door is lock'd. 
" Aha!" thought I, " I see what you are after; 
But I shall spoil your spoi't, my gentle doves!" 
I listen'd long enough, and saw enough 
Through the keyhole too, to make belief conviction, 
And finally burst the door in, just in time 
To save two fools from making one fool less. 

Matt. Don't stop ! [eagerly^ loith an expression of anguish. 
Medd. I did not ; for my body, coming 
Prone on the nearest fighter, knock'd liim down. 
The hair of his pistol being ready set, 



98 THE SILVEII HEAD 



Off goes the weapon, right hetwixt my legs. 
But, as if risk of maiming were n't enougli, 
My gentleman, rising, with his popgun's stock 
Tries to beat out my brains ! 

Matt, {grasping his arm.} 'T was not my son? 

Medd. No, your son rush'd between us. 

Matt. Ah ! thank God ! 
And yet, he was the other combatant ! 

Medd. No, he was not: how can you be so silly? 

He went for the weapons, that was all, and stood. 
As second in common, by, to see fair play. 
The other was a man more old than either. 
And seem'd the decentest fellow of all three. 

Matt. But sure you said, that one of them was Manfred ? 

Medd. I did ; I had it from his very lips — 

After he had offer 'd, courteously, to beat me. 
Or kick me out of the room, if I preferr'd. 

Matt. Strange! 

Medd. True not less. But, to conclude the tale, 
Hearing this Manfred call your son by name. 
Politely bidding him knock the meddler down. 
Or tumble me from the room, — romantic, that! 
I foUow'd the latter, met him coming back — 
Learn'd your address, and straightway hasten'd 

hither, — 
Chiefly because he told me I must not. 
And now, what say you, cousin, to my tale? 
Is this good company that Eichard keeps? 

Matt. I say still, there is some mistake. But wait: 



ACT IV. SC. 4. 09 



My son must soon be home. 

Medd. When we shall see. 
Meantime, this is dry talking, cousin Mark : 
What have yon got ? 

Matt. I soon can give you tea. 
Medd. Tea! 't is not hearty. But perhaps you are 
One of good Matthew's people ? 

Matt. No, I am temperate 
Not by forswearing every mirthful drink, 
Which were ascetic, but by using them 
Only as I would have my boy use pleasure, 
A little at a time, and "far between." 
Medd. Impressing his hand admiringly and affectionately. 
Philosopher and poet, as they told me. 
Let us then have some punch this winter evening, 
And, if you have no spirit and lemons here, 
We '11 send your woman for them. What 's her name ? 
[rising iriskly, and ringing the lyarlor-hcU. 
Kitty? 
Matt. No, Molly, [smiling. 

Medd. Molly, is it ? [kriochs on the floor uiith 
his stick ; then, running like a hoy to the door 
and opening it, cries out into the passage. 
Molly! 
Put on the kettle, Molly, — not for tea ! 
Mattison xcatches him with a benevolent smile — 

and the Drop falls. 



100 THE SILVER HEAD 



AoT THE Fifth. 

Scene I. The room of the tavern^ ns in Act IV., Sc. IT. 

The lamp hurning, as hefore. 

Oscar and Eichaed. 

Rich. Wherefore not now? [talcing up his hat icith an air 

of restrained impatience. 
Osc. Because it is too soon. 
Have I not said, the high contracting parties 
Agreed — and seal'd the treaty with their lips — 

[Rich, restraining an im2)ulse of anger. 
An honr and more should intervene, between 
That last dear parting and the auspicious time 
When the fair Helen, issuing from her chamber, 
Should make a Meneliius of her 'pa. 
And meet the Paris, Manfred, in the streets? 
Rich, [furiously. 

Stop, sir! What does this language mean ? tome? 
Osc. [shrugging his shoulders. 

'Faith, I might answer you, my lad, in brief. 
That you may let it mean even what you please. 
But we '11 not have those pistols brought again ; 
They go off much too promptly : so, I say, 



ACT V. SO. 1. 101 

It is to curb your temper that I jest. 

"What should I gain insulting your chaste sister, 

[Sich. winces again, 
Or jesting at your father's silver hairs? 
I sacrifice my brother to spare both. 
Rich. "Well, well! But do not speak with such an a'r; 

It seems to mock me, though you mean so well. 
Osc. And now is the time to prove it. {loohing at hi-i icatch. 

But remember, [Ztfj'i/i^ 
Ms hand on RicharcVs sleeve. 
It is my brother, sir, you go to meet. 
Though you arrest him in his wicked purpose, 
You are to use no violence ; no weapons 
Must be employ'd that may endanger life. 
And yet — Alas! he is stronger than a lion. 
And quite as brave. 'T is di'eadful — but I fear 
I cannot hinder you. But be humane ; 
It is the law of God as well as tnan. 
Rich. I will defend my honor at all costs. 

Let me go, Mr. Ferguson ! {bursting from him. Exit. 
Osc. \after a momenVs 2^ause of great agitation. 
No, no ! \to himself. — 
Galling aloud from the door. 
Stop, sir ! Come back ! this instant, or, by Heaven ! 
I '11 mar your purpose ! 

Re-enter Riohaed. 

Rich, [speaking with restrained 2}assion. 

What 's the matter now ? 



102 THE SILVER HEAD 

Osc. [speahing eagerly and rapidly. 

Promise me, sir, by all that you hold sacred, 
You will do nothing against Manfred's life ! 
Swear it ! no matter what may urge you ! Swear it I 
Swear ! or you shall not quit the room this night. 
Hich. I do. Now let me go. [breahing away from him. 

Osc. Go. But remember! [hold- 
ing him hy the cuff. 
Dare harm him, and [letting go.] you die, sir, by my 
hand I 

[Exit., pirecipitately., Bichard. 
Osc. 'T is over ! — Ah! — [willing his forehead. 

God ! what a fearful struggle ! 
The death-hour must have such a pang as that. — 
Now I feel better — and my heart is lighter — [sighing. 
My brother's blood will not lie on ray soul, [shuddering. 
He will not mind his fortune, — and his name, 
What 's that to one who knows his heart is honest? 
I am sweating still ; [again wiping Ms brow. 

that minute's mental spasm 
Has torn my nerves to pieces. [Drakes a chair to the 
table, and sits down as if to breathe. 
After a brief ptause.l Let me see. 
I have bargain'd for his safety, in the event 
This rude boy and himself encounter. Still, 
By keeping Mattison beyond the hour, 
I have given Manfred time to work his will. 
If passion rule, he and his charmer fly — 
Forever — for he has sworn it : this is best. 



ACT V. SC. 1. 103 

If caught in the street together, — that is weU. 
la either case, I must come up, in time 
To jerk the wire of this good puppet Dick, 
Who does my business, which he thinks liis own, 
And, like full many another passionate fool, 
Will give to scandal his young sister's name, 
And set his foot upon his father's heart, [rising. 
To gratify revenge, perhaps some grudge. 
Which he calls honor, but I know is — fudge ! 

[Begins to put on his cloah, and 

Scene closes. 



104 THE SILVER HEAD 

Scene II. 
The Square^ ns in Act III.^ Scene, III. 

The stage is still darler 

than in the p?'evious re2Jresentation of the scene — indicating 

the advance of tlie night. 

Enter, 

from the street that leads to Mattison''s house, 

Manfred and Helen. 

They come forioard. Manfeed has his left hand laid 

lightly on Helen's waist, over her shaicl, while 

his right holds her right hand. 

Hel. O go no further : it was here we parted ; 
And here we were to meet — to part again. 
Manf. And part forever ! "Was it not so sworn ? 
Hel. And part — forever ! 

She hesitates an instant, then 

throws herself, in ferfect abandonment of all self-restraint, 

upon his shoulder and weeps. 

Manf. Helen ! Mercy ! Hush ! 
Now I have need of all ray strength, do not, 
Do not unman me thus, else I prove false 
To God, to honor, to myself and thee ! 
O, it is madness in you thus to lean 
Your head upon my shoulder I I had thought 



ACT V. SC. 2. 105 



To wrestle with my own heart solely ; yours, 
Yours too against my reason is too much. 
Let us stand simply thus, your hand in mine. 
Now hear rae, Helen. I beheld the scene 
Between you and your father, [She starts and lays her 
other hand over his, gazing in his face in 
the extremity of surprise. 
— saw it all, 
Through the half-clos'd shutter, and I vow'd to God 
Those silver hairs should be to-night a veil 
Between your beauty and ray passion. [She raises his 

hand to her lips. 
Come; 
Your father calls us, and the eyes of God 
Look from the thousand stars to keep us chaste : 
Come, while I yet can speak thus to you ! Come ! 

Re urges her gently on the tcay hacTc, 

in the same manner (Jiis hand around her, <&c.) 

as they had entered. 

Hel. Yes, it is right to part. And yet 

Manf. And yet? — 
They have stopped, after tahing 
lut a step or two ; and now Helen again casts herself 

on Manfred's breast. 
Hel. O, I am lost to shame ! lost, lost, lost, lost ! 
Manf. Helen! what is the matter? Shame and you! 

[pressing her to his hreast. 
Hel. And is 't not bitter shame, when you are cold 
And no more love me 



106 THE SILVER HEAD 



Maiif. Helen! [^in a tone of mourn- 
ful reproach. 
Hel. [without attending to the interruption. 
— as you (lid, 
To own I dare not leave you ? that I fear 
To be alone now with my own wild thoughts? 
O God, deliver me ! the hour I have pass'd, 
In waiting for this moment, I could not 
Go through again, and live : and now, and now, 
To think we never more shall meet again, 
My heart will burst — I feel it, that it will; 
And God grant only that it may be soon ! 
Manf. [speaking with mttch agitation^ while he gently 
raises her head. 
Helen! — And your poor father — that old man — 
Must he die too ? You shall live, for his sake ; 
And my kind cousin''s cares, hers whom you love. 
And who loves you so much, shall bring again 
Peace to your innocent heart. Come, Helen, come. 

[They move of. 

Think of your father; it shall be Oh God! 

[falling had', just as they hare reach''d the 
mo It til of the street. 
Hel. [in turn looTcing Uj) the street. 

My brother! and my father! they have quit the 
house ! 
Desperately.] Take me now where you will — my 



name is gone 
Ever and ever ! 



ACT V. SC. 2. 



107 



Mai\f. [catcMruj Tier to his heart and hissing her. 
Ever and ever! for you are my wife! 
Witness it God and Angels ! Now I dare 
To kiss you. Helen ! [looUng on her anxiously. 

do not faint! bear up, [xmtying 

the strings of her honnet. 

Yet but a little, and we shall be home. [She falls across 

his arms. 
•Ah ! And the noise comes nearer ! Thus then, thus. 

Lifts her in his arms, her lonnet 

droiyping to the ground, and her hair falling 

in disorder aUut him, and runs with her to the street at the 

left, nearest the proscenium. 

Coachman! [calling aloud, into the street. 

Down with your steps there ! triple fare ! 
[Exit, kissing Eel. rapturously, as he bears 
her off in his arms. 

Enter, 

after a second or two, from the street 

at the right corner, nearest the proscenium, 

Oscar. 

Osc. Tliat was ray brotlier's lungs ! What, is he chas'd ? 
[turning his head toicard the u^jcr street on 
the same side, and listening. 
The hounds were close upon hini : here they come. 
I '11 whip them back to kennel, — though their legs 
Would hardly overtake a coach and pair, 
Whose driver is trebly fee'd. 



108 THE SILVER HEAD 



Enter, 

from the street of Mattison's house, 

Mark Mattison, Eichard, aitd Meddleham. 

Mattison and his son are tcitJiout their hats or any overcoats. 

Rich, [furiously.'] Too late ! 

Matt, [despairingly.'] Too late! 
Rich. But they shall not escape me! [mahing for the very 
quarter where Manf. and Eel. had actually 

disappeared. 
Osc. [arresting him.] And which way ? 
"Without your hat too ! 

Rich, [struggling with him. 

To the gates of Hell ! 
Osc. You '11 sooner reach it than you '11 gain on them. 
Rich. Why do you stop me ? Let go ! But for you, 
I had been in time. 

Osc. And but for me, I think. 
You never would have known of this at all. 

[Rich, ceases to struggle. 
I stop you; first, because this is the way — 

[indicating the very street he hhiiself had come 
from, i. e., directly on a line, in an op- 
2)osite direction, icith the true one. 
Stay! [stopping Rich., icho is aiout to talce it. 

— and because, even had the way been that. 
You hardly would run faster than a coach, 
A coach too paid for as my brother pays. 
Besides, how could you see it in the dark? 



ACT V. SC. 2. 109 

Matt. My daughter! O my daughter ! 

Rich. Since, it seems, 
You saw all this, why did you let them 'scape? 
Osc. [haughtily. 

Perhaps hecause I chose it. — But, good sir, 
Am I the Devil, or a steam-machine. 
To stop a coach that 's running, with my thumb ? 
The parties too unwilling, man and maid, 
She kissing him and urging him to speed? 
Matt. Miserable child! Lost! lost! 

Bich. Curse on her ! 

Matt. Husli! 
Medd. [icho has been curiously turning over Helen'' s hat 
with his sticJc. 
"Whose bonnet 's this has fallen in the street ? 
Matt. Helen's ! Give, give it to me ! 't is my child's. 
Rich. No! [snatching it from Medd.^ and flinging it from 
Aim.] Damn it! let it lie in the street, to rot. 
Or serve some strumpet's head less vile than hers ! 
Osc. [severely^ and talcing Rich, hy the arm. 

Young man, respect at least your parent's years. 
If you have no compassion for his woes. 
Picks up the honnet^ hrushes it 
gently with his handkerchief as if to clean it of the dust, 
and hands it deprecatingly to Mattisox. 
Take it, thou good old man, nor be asham'd 
To treasure it in memory of your child. 
Perhaps too she is nDt so vile. This hat, 
Abandon'd thus, looks little like free will. 



110 THE SILVER HEAD 



Though reconcil'd at last, and urging flight, 
My wicked brother must have forc'd her off. 

Matt. God bless you, sir! the world has done you wrong. 

Medd. Ay, and your joke to-night did not correct it. 
The next time you assume another's name, 
Pray let it be a better than your own. 
You are not Manfred, and, though rough, are true, 
And, had your threats been kicks, you still should find. 
An upright heart has made amends for all. 

[shaTcing his liand. 

Osc. I know not what you mean : but sure, the Devil 
Himself might reverence these silver hairs. 
But come, the night-air is not good for them ; 
And if we stay much longer in this place, 
'^° So queerly rigg'd and with such troubled mien, 
A mob will be upon us. See already, 
Where some fool lifts a window over liead. 

Uooliing v]^ to one of the houses^ where a head 
is nom seen loohing out. 

Rich. But what do you propose to do? [sulkily. 

Osc. Even this : 
To meet you at my uncle's house forthwith. 
Manfred he loves, but never honors knaves ; 
And he will aid you to a prompt redress. 
But first go home and cover that white head, 

[gently touching Hich, 
And shield that body from the pitiless cold. 
And put your own hat on; then, with all haste, 
Go to Sir Henry's — not yourself alone. 



ACT V. SC. 2. Ill 

But your ag'd father, and this worthy friend. 

All must be present. You will find me there. 

Richard takes his father T)y the arm^ 

who^ ever since he received Helen's hat^ has 

heen standing in a mute abstraction^ gazing on -if, 

as if he icere silently weeping^ and Exit with 

him dotpn the street. 

Medd. [steppi?ig behind to shake Oscar^s hand. 

Good-by till then — to meet, much better friends. 

[Exit. And the inquisitive neighhor 
shuts doicn the windoio. 
Osc. [alone.l Ay, my old cock? And yet an hour ago 
I was about to wring your neck ! 'T was then. 
When I was true, though rough, because I tried 
To give you a bloody comb, your spurs were rais'd 
And your short feathers bristling round your wattles: 
Now I am really dangerous — not more false 
Saffise's fingers when they sign the cross — 
You cackle delicate as a dunghill-hen 
That has laid an egg beside a lump of chalk I 
So fair-and-softly wins some kindly fools. 
While others, like that boy, are devilish shrewd 
In spying out ftiith beneath a satyr's mask! 
Moves omcard toward the street where Manfred and Helen 
made their Exeunt. 
And n(jw to triumph, [adjusting the collar of his cloak. 
and end a good day's work. 
Stops a moment, and looks upward. 
" Ye stars ! which are the poetry of Heaven " — 



112 THE SILVER HEAD 



As writes some great ass — Byron, I believe — 
Though one and all, compris'd the planets seven, 
Look more like fish-scales shining through a sieve, — 
At least to me, who, hj such mystic phrases, 
Am taught fire sings and human diction blazes, • — 
Ye stars, beneath whose ever-twinkling eyes 
Manfred has play'd the fool, and I been wise, 
Shine on, for other lovers like my brother, 
And let their joy be still to hug each other. 
That wiser men may thence good profit draw, 
And cull tlie clean wheat while they thresli the strpw ! 
Manfred has gone with Helen to be blest. 
Amen ! while, bidding you a bright unrest, 

[lifting his hat and bowing icith moci^ 
reverence toward the sl-y. 
I — but my rliymes run out ! In sober prose, 
I go, to lead — my uncle by the nose. 

[Exit. 



ACT V. SC. 8. 113 

Scene III. and the Last. 

Same as in Act /., Scene I. 

The chandelier^ or other lamp stispended froin the ceiling, is 
ligJited vjy. 

SiE Henry and Vincent. 

^^ Sir H. We seem to have the parlor to ourselves! 
In waiting those rude boys, and Sybil too, 
What say you, Vincent, to a game of chess ? 

Vin. "With all my heart. Sir Henry ; but 't would be 
Only begun, to be abandon'd soon. 
With the first move, your lovely niece appears, 
And what becomes then of our rooks and knights? 

Sir. H. True ; thougli you held my king himself in check, 
I verily think you would resign the board 
At the first rustle of the beauty's gown. 
Why, how you blush ! I sometimes half- suspect 
You really love the sprightly widow better 
Than Manfred does himself. Tut, tat! that heart 

[touching Vin. playfully on the hreasf. 
Is not so sage, man, as its owner's head. 
'T is well it 's honest ; Manfred's else might quake. 
But as for Sybil's company just now, 
A carriage drove up as I pass'd the hall : 
Whom it contain'd I know not, but my niece 
Was summon'd by her maid, on some aiFair 
Of private nature. Doubtless 't is a visit 



114 THE SILVER HEAD 



For some beneficent object, where her name 
Stands always foremost. 

Vin. As an angel's should. 
The odor of good deeds is carried far. 
Despite of secrecy, each act takes wind, 
And thousands rush to gather from the tree 
Celestial, that in human garden blooms, — 
Perennial growth! but planted wide between. 

Sir. H. Bravo ! that poetry and panegyric 

Shall take wind too, like Charity's own flower, 
And bear its odors to the " angel's" ear. 

Vin. For Heaven's sake, no. Sir Henry ! She mocks ever 
My best-turn 'd compliments, and calls them dull. 

Sir H. You silly fellow ! 't is because they please. 

You 're a rare judge of women ! Is he not? {turning 
round 1 ns he Jiears tJie doo?' oj}en. 

Enter OscAE. 

Oh I [as if he had expected some one else. 

— Where the deuse, fair nephew, have you been ? 
Osc. [loohing significantly^ hut without impertinence^ at Vin. 
To see how courage well becomes a sage, 
To find even fools grow wise when madmen rage. 
To feel how easily the headstrong fall. 
And learn one meddler may confound them all. 
Sir. H. Oracular quite ! But please, sir, to explain 
The riddle of these Delphic rhymes. 

Osc. Xot while 
So rare a secret-fathomer stands here. 



ACT V. Sf". 3. 115 

Try his long plummet, uncle. 

Sir. H. What is this? [looMng 
from one to the other in amnzement. 
"What means this madcap, Mr, Vincent? Say. 
Vin. Pardon me, sir, I cannot gloss a muse 

I find so seldom friendly, as is his. 
Osc. And yet you might, for on my honor, sir, 
I spoke a compliment, and meant it too. 
But [shrugging his shoulders.] — as you like. 
A mnrmnr of voiecs heard at the door hy which Oscau had 
entered. It is then throicn open suddenly. 

Sir. H. What novel guests are these ? 
Rich. [speaJi;ing without, ichile Meddleham is seen coining in. 
We stand in need of no announcement here: 

Enter., 

after Meddleham, Mattison, — Richard supporting him 

hy the arm, and still speahing. 

We come for justice. 

Medd. Justice. 

Matt. And my child. 
Instantly, as the words are said. 

Enter, 

from the opposite side, Helen', between Manfred and Sybil, 

who have, each of them, a hand of hers, 

while Sybil's is also round her waist. Helen's 

hair is modestly arranged. She has no shawl, but is otherioUe 

in the dress in which she met Manfred. 



116 THE SILVER HEAD 

The whole company present are 

thrown into agitation. Sir Henry 

Joohs confounded ; Vincent surprised^ yet 

anxious ; Oscar seems crest-fallen., Meddleram 

perplexed^ lohilc Mattison stretches out his arms to 

his daughter, who mahes toward him, and Richard seems 

unaile to move, "between p>urposed revenge and amaze- 

inent at the strange turn matters seem to have 

taTcen. Vincent, however, moves near to 

him, as if to prevent difficulty. 

Hel. [rushing into her father'' s arms. 

Father ! 

Matt, [tenderly, yet holding her off, while he gazes 
inquiringly in her face. 
My child ! 

Rich, [vehemently to Manfred. 
Explain, sir. 

Manf. [calmly, and with a 
slight gesture, turning the palm of his hand, 
toward him, as if to wave him iacJ\ 
In a moment. 
Sich. [with increased vehemence. 
I claim redress. 

Matt, [holding Helen in his arms, as she 
hangs upon his shoulder. 
1 I ask but for my child. 

Manf. [moving toward Mattison. 

Both shall be answer'd. But I claim my wife. 



ACT V. SC. 3. 11 '7 

A neto movement in the company. 

ViNCEKT seems surprised, hut still more 

sad; Sybil goes up to Sir IIenet, takes his 

hand^ and appears to intercede and expostulate with 

him ; Osoak seems to restrain a movement of despair ; ilED 

BLEHAM goes up nearer to Manfred, contemplating him 

with interest; Richard stands irresolute and 

haJf-incrediilous.^ loohing from Helen^ to 

Manfred attentively^! while Mattison 

starts from Helen's emhrace. 

Sir JI. Ah! 

Vin. Fatal rashness! 

Matt. Heavens ! — Helen I — Speak ! " 
[holding her from him., and gazing on her, 
and from her to 

Manfred. 
Manf. [smiling. 

Speak, Helen; and now say, — whose claim is best? 
He spreads out his hands to her, 
and Helen, ^/b?* answer, rushes into his arms and 

he folds her to his ircast. 
Yes, sir, [extending his left hand to Rich., his right 

heing still round Bel. 
I carried off your sister : 't was. 
As I repeat, to make her truly mine. [Rich, touches 

his hand, hut coldly. 
You, sir, 

[to Matt. 
Ask'd but your child, and you have twice your wish ; 



118 THE SILVER HEAD 



For are you not my father too, as hers? 

[^Releasing Helen^ he gives his hand to the old man, 
who presses it in hoth of his with great emotion. 
Matt. How could I doubt you ? 

Mcdd. And the world speaks true. 
[Jbllowiiig, with evident admiration^ Man/., as 
the latter walks up, diffidently, to his uncle. 
Manf. Uncle, forgive me ; you alone I have wrong'd. 
Sir H. Unhappy boy ! 't is not of me alone. 
Whose hopes you have so cruelly deceiv'd, 
You have to ask forgiveness, but yourself. 
This girl, though lovely, and, I doubt not, good, 
Is not your match, in birth nor in estate. 
Medd. Pardon, Sir Henry; but she is, in both. 
Sir H. Sir ! Who are you, pray ? 

Medd. I 'm Ralph Meddlchain. 
They spell me Meddle-ham ; but people say 
Middleum always, and I say so too. 

During the dialogue heticeen 

Sir Henky and Manfred, Helex, 

at Sybil's motion, has led her up to her 

father, and an introduction takes place in 

dumi show, with marks of great cordiality on hoth 

sides. Tlien Sybil, with her own hands, draws an armchair 

near the old man, and would have him sit in it, hut 

he declines with a firm andsomeiohat lofty air ; 

and, with her on one side and Helex on 

the other, stands and listens, with 

the rest of the company, to 

irh-at follotps. 



ACT V. SO. 3. 119 

^' Sir E. Middleuni? — Ah! [seeming to recall something^ 
and looTcing attentivehj at Medcl. 

Medd. Your eldest brotlier 

Sir E. Well! 
Medd. Marry'd a lady of the name of Calvert. 
She was the daughter of my father's niece. 
Sii' E. [extending his hand franhly . 

Sir, you are welcome. Though we are not kin, 
I lov'd my brother, and am glad to see 
The cousin of his wife. 
Medd. [shaking his hand.] 'T is kindly said. 
Manfred, you are my cousin twice i-eraov'd. 
Yet are more near, by all that I have heard. 
And wliich this night confirms, near to my heart 
Than brothers to each other always are. 
Give me your honest hand. And your hand too : 

[to Oscar., with whom howeter he shakes 
hands less cordially. 
T is better thus than kicks and broken bones. 
Osc. Much; but a jolly way that was of yours. 
Tumbling into acquaintance on one's back ! 

[Sir E. and Manf. exchange momentary 
looks of slight surprise. 
Sir. E. Pardon me, that I venture to remind you 
Of your first theme. "What has all this to do 
With the young lady Manfred would espouse ? 
Medd. The same blood, that has mixed with yours in his, 
Has mingled with Mark Mattison's in hers : 
Her grand-aunt was my mother. Pretty Helen, 



120 THE SILVER HEAD 



Have you no welcome for your father's cousin ? 

apfroacMng her^ she advancirig to him. 

And the group, following Meddleham, is thus 

made to gather about Mattison. Meddleham talcs 

Helen's hand, and 2nits a hand tipon her head 

admiringly and affectionately. 
Sir Henry, I have no one in the world 
To love as kin, save those I have round me now ; 
And I am very rich, — so people say. 
"Where shall I then find heirs, if 't is not here ? 
Thus much for Helen's wealth. As for her hirth, 
To-morrow cousin Mark will make it clear 
That falleu fortune is but fall'n estate, 
And that his cradle was such wood as yours. 
Sir II. Manfred, though Helen had been lowly born, 
And poor as lowly, I had learn'd in time 
To grow contented, happy that my boy 
Had not forgot his honor in his love, 
Nor made a wreck of innocence for pride. 
But now the world too must approve your choice ; 
And since you wish it, be it so, my son. 
OsoAR moving upward, and consequently apart from 
the group, seems to suffer an emotion of pain. 
Yet, well you know, my heart was set elsewhere. 
Manf. Then let me, for that heart's sake as for mine, 
Beg for another your best interest here. 
TaTcing Sybil's hand, just as she turns aioay, and 
reaching w ith his other hand to Vincent, a nd leading Ji im doicn. 
Who in this world is worthy Sybil's love, 



ACT V. SC. 3. 121 

But A'incent, my true friend? 

Sij' IT. And next yourself, 
[Oscar returns, with fresh interest, and 
listens anxionshj. 
Whom would I sooner gift with such a prize? 

[looking inquiringly to Sybil, who betrays 

emotion and confusion. 

Yin. "With such a sanction — might I [agitated and em- 

barrassed.l — dare aspire? 

8yb. Sir ! — [Then, sJiaJcing off all embarrassment by a sud- 
den effort, and placing her hand icith a 
noble frankness and siceet dignity 
in Vince7ifs. 
'T is to stoop to such a heart and hand. 
A man of Mr. Vincent's matchless faith 
Might dare aspire to win an empress' love. 
Vincent presses her hand to his heart 
and lips. The com.pany gather round them, and they 
are 2}(irted, Manfred taking Vincent's hand, while Oscae, 
beyond the circle, clasps his hands passionately 
together, and bites his lips. 
Manf [_in an zmder tone to Vin. 

And did win Syhil Vernon's long ago. 
Vin. Ah ! [looking earnestly at Manf. 

He then, turning round, and seeing the 

company engaged in mutual congratulation and 

introductions of the strangers to one another, <i-c., &c 

draws Manfred aside, or dotrn the scene, 

close to the footlights. 



122 THE SILVER HEAD 



Tell me, frankly, was it for my sake, 
Deal" Manfred, you were cold to Sybil's charms? 
Mauf. Why, man, you lov'd her : where was need of two ? 
Yin. How could I be so blind? You generous soul! 

[2)ressing hoth Jiis hands. 
Manf. You would not have me be outdone by you ! 
Yours was the lesson. 

Yin. And you learn'd it well. 

They rejoin the rest, ichere Sir Henry 

has just placed old Mattison in the chair he had hefore 

refused. Vincent tal-es Sybil's hand tcith a 

movement of gratitude and deep affection. 

Hel. Now I am happier, [to Syiil. 

Syh. [smiling.] What! and was there room?" 

Enter Saffise, 

with mi/ff, shawl, and hat, dressed coquettishly , 

hut according to her station. Oscar, ohserving her first, 

darts forirard to remove her. 

Sir H. [attracted hy the movement. 
What 'sthis? 

Hel. Saffise! [in astonishment, exchanging 
looks with her father and hrother, tchile, Inj 
2))'essing nearer to Ilanf, she seems also 
to fear. 
Osc. Begone! 

Saff. Not till I 'in heard. 
Sir H. What is the matter ? 

Osc. 'T is a silly girl 



ACT V. SC. 3. 123 

Saff. Silly in trusting to a heartless villain, — 
But not so silly as to kiss the rod 
When she has strength to give back blow for blow — 
As you shall find ! [jyoismff herself on Tier toes^ and 
gesticulating as on a former occasion. 
Osc. [affecting wonder and commiseration. 
The creature 's mad ! — ■ Come out ! 
[seizes Iter hy the arm. 
Medd. [intcifering. 

Mad? Irish mad then: she seems far more angry. 

Saff. That is it, sir: I 'ni in a furious rage! [clenching her 

fist (but without raising the arm) with 

ludicrous 2'>assio7i. 

You are Sir Henry Ferguson, I think ; 

[moving iip to Sir H. 
You will not shut your ears to me, nor suffer 
This dirty wretch, because he is your nephew, 
To abuse me — and yourself — and Helen there — 

And 

Osc. [menacing. 

Devil! will you hold your tongue? 
Rich, [eagerly approaching Saffl] Speak on! 
Sir IT. Oscar, stand back ; and you, young sir, have pa- 
tience. 
I am the one address'd : permit me then. 
My girl, if you have anything to say. 
Follow me to a fitter place. This way. [indicating to 

her to follow him out. 
Saff. Xo sir, this is the fittest place. T is liere, 



124 THE aiLVDB uijad 



Where it so happens that I see around me 

All that are most concern'd to know this truth, 

That I shall tell it. Learn, your nephew there, 

That Oscar! has been seeking, by my help, 

To undermine liis truer-li carted brother 

In your esteem, and ruin that young girl, 

"Who, I had thought, by this time would have been 

In a different liouse from this. — 

Rich. By Heaven ! — 
[making a step toward Oscar. 
Matt. Richard! 
Eemember where you are, my son. 

Osc. Sir Henry, 
This is some villain's |)lot; the girl is hired. 

Tou will not suffer such a hussy 

Saff. Hussy! 
And who has made me so ? I am none but yours. 
The plot is yours, the villain is yourself; 
And for the hire, it was to hold my tongue. 
You had better hold your own ; those ugly names, 
That save your brother, lose you an estate. 
Sir Ileni'y, I am come to face this shame, 
Although it is more dreadful tlian I fear'd. 
For some are here that never thought me bad. 

[icitTi a moment''s glance at the Mattisons. 
Then, casting clown her eyes. 
I am his mistress. Let the horrid pain. 
Of owning it in the ears of such as these. 
Make some atonement for my being such. 



ACT Y. SC. 3. 125 

This very afternoon, did he induce me 

To inveigle that young girl iuto my rooms, 

"Whither he was to make his brother come, 

And did, that Helen's weakness might be 

Manf. [ster7ili/.] Ilush! 
Uncle, let her not say another word. 
Hich. She has said enough : I have proof of it. Come o;it. 
[to Osc, touching him smartly o)i the arm. as 
he 2}asses him on his way to the door. 
Manf. [arresting Rich. 

Mattison — Richard — brother ! For my sake, 
Whom doubtless you have thought too harshly of, — 

For Helen's — for your father's ! 

Vin. And for mine. 

[grarely. 
Young man, you owe me some amends, for words 
Spoken injuriously, you well know where. 
Make them, by letting your own wrongs go by. 
Matt. Richard, — I do command you ! [Rich, hesitates. 

Syh. And I, sir, 
If you will let me, I — entreat you. 
She takes him iy thefngers, and leads him, scarce resisting, 
to hisfat]ier''s chair. 
Osc. [w?io has icatched the whole proceeding with 
his arms folded. 

Ohi 
Good people, this was pains superfluous : 
I will not barm the lad. 
Rich, [endeavoring to escajic] It is too much I 



126 THE SILVER HEAD. 



Matt, [lolio holds him by the tcinst. 

The greater merit then in your endurance. 
Stand still, my son. 

Sir H. Obey your j^arent, sir; 
And I, at least, will own you are a man. 
He lays his hand flatteringly on RicnARD's shoulder, who 

ioiDS, and resists no longer. 
Medd. 'T is your first step in wisdom, — and Avell planted. 
I like you better now than I had liop'd. [shalcing 

Richard's hand. 
Osc. Well, I am glad the gentleman has gained 
Something at least he never had before. 
I shall not put to test his new discretion. 
Sir H. Silence ! for shame at least, [severely. 

Osc. [icithout in the least 
regarding his uncWs interruption. 
The more so too, 
That I have similar matter on my hands. 
And much more weighty. You will not forget? 

[significantly to Vincent. 
Man/, [rapidly^ and preventing Vincent from replying. 
Ah ! I remember. Brother, it would seem. 
You have done, or sought to do me, grievous wrong ; 
Why I know not, nor do I ask to know. 

If you Avould have me to forgive you 

Osc. [haughtily.'] First, 
Wait till I ask you. 

Manf. As a favor then. 
Do not pursue this silly quarrel further. 



ACT Y. SC, 3. 127 

And you, my friend [to Vin.] But I am sure of you. 

Osc. [carelessly. 

"Well, I am no wise anxious for the sport. 
I have tried his mettle, and he well knows mine : 

If he have no wish to pursue it further ? 

Vin. [coldly. 

It never was a quarrel of my seeking. 
Osc. Then we are quits. — And now for Texas. Saff, 

[gaily. 
What say you? will you thitlier? 

Saff. But you jest? 
Osc. Jest? Not a whit of it ! Plainly, will you come? 
Saff. [after looking at him steadily for a moment. 

I will. [Gives lier Mud loldly to Osc. to lead her out. 
The comj)any evince extreme surprise^ 
mixed icith pain. 
Manf. [going tip to her anxiously. 
You cannot mean it ! 

Sir H. Are you mad ? 
Saff. No, sir ; not now, no more than I was then. 
I know your nephew, and he knows me — well. 
He dares not touch me. 

Osc. And he has no wish — 
At least in a hostile way. I' faith, you puss! 
I like you all the hotter for your claws. 
We shall make our fortunes still. Who knows ? perhaps 
Some day may see me in the Governor's chair ! 
And when I am, you vixen, I may make 



128 THE SILVER HEAD 



SaflBse perliaps my [jyaunln/j. The comjjani/ 

start. Mel. even mores a step toward him, 
and Safflse herself, with evident emo- 
tion, grasps his arm. 
— Secretary of State. 
Eel. [timidly.'] 

SafRse, — do stay; and be to me a [attempting 

to tal-e her hand. 
Saff. [roughly.] What? 
A foil to the splendor wliich I see awaits you ? 
No I never again in this accursed town 
Will I set foot. Don't touch me ! [stainping, and draw- 
ing hdcTc. 
for I liate you ! 
Ilel. [still timidly, yet sadly. 

Hate me, Saffise? I never did you wrong. 
Saff. [fiercely. 

And are you not then happy ? [Hel. falls had;, in 

amazement, upon Syh. and Manf, loho have 

approached to remove her from Saff. 

Manf. Come away: [gently 

to Hel., and in a low tone. 

Slie will not understand you. 

S<ff. Ah ! too well. 

1 >ut — pity ! and from lier ! 

With a hrohen utterance.] Sir-;— Mr. Ferguson — 

[2ya^lses, casting doion her eyes. 

Manf. [gently.] Say tlien : can I do aught for you, my girl ? 



ACT Y. SO. 3. 129 

Saff. [her whole manner altered — ■ her voice dejected — and' 
her eyes still cast down. 
Will you permit me, sii* — to — touch jonr hand ? — 
If you will take the hand of — one like me. 

Manfred secretly slides a 2>ui'se of 

moneij into his hand ere he extends it to her^ v:hich he does 

franldy^ and loith an air of great compassion, 

and even consideration. 

Manf. Why not ? \in a mild, low tone. 

I never scorn the unfortunate. 

Saff. Then, 
Heaven bless you ! [raising his hand passionately to 

her lip)S. 
But not this, [offering hacic thepnrse. 
— And yet [hesitating. 
■ — and yet — 
It may be well to have it with me too : 
An amulet, more precious than my cross, 
'T will be to this bad bosom, — and perhaps, 
To have it there, my heart will beat the happier. 

[K^isses it and p)uts it into her Ijosom. 
Berchance a day may come too, when this gold 
May save the Creole from — a natural fate. 
And a deserv'd one you may think. Farewell ! 

[icith much emotion. 
Osc. [who has made one or two impatient turns while she 
has ieen addressing Manf, and at last faced her 
tcith a, sarcastic lool-. 
Vol. IV.— 6* 



130 THE SILVER HEAD 



Well play'd, Melpomene ! — Good people, .ill. 

{jbowing with his hat around the assembly. 
Farewell! [mimicking Saffise' s Tieart-'brohen tone. 
Turns to Manf.'] With my share, added to your own. 
Of uncle's leavings, brother, you '11 be rich. 
Pray don't forget the Muses, — nor to add 
( In your next acquisitions in the Arts), 
In honor of your studies in the Square, 
Cupid and Psyche to your classic groups. 
Sir H. [loho has Veen regarding him loith more and more 
indignation. 
Or say, have Power to cat him Satan, sneering 
Over the joy of Adam with his Eve. 
Osc. [bowing to Sir II. 

Adam had no fool-uncle, I believe. 

[Exit^ icith Saff. 
Sir n. Miserable boy ! 

Manf. [rushing after them. 

O, do not let them go ! 
Oscar! [calling after him. 
Sir H. [stojyping Manf. and presslr g his hand. 
'T is better as it is, my son. 
Is it not, Mr. Vincent? 

Tin. Yes, for both. 
Even could Oscar face his friend again, 
Manfred would grieve, conceiving in his brotlier 
A self-remorse perhaps he never felt. 
Manfeed moves pensively to Helex, who is by her father's 
side, and taJres her hand. 



ACT V. SC. 3. 131 

Matt. And you, my daughter, what have you escap'd! 

A nature so perverted as that gu'l's ! 

Not wliolly bad ; but even its virtues such. 

As to make dangerous her will to evil : 

'T was perilous such a contact, even for once ! 
Hel. [humbl]/.] Thank God then, I am no more in its reach : 

It is my fortune, more than my desert. 
Matt. Nay, not so, Helen ; for that were to say. 

That innocence cries up to Heaven in vain. 

Who should be heard there, if not you? Kneel down. 

I blest you when your heart was breaking ; now 

That you are happiest of all womankind, 

God keep you blest, my good, my tender child ! 
Man/. And have you not a blessing too for me. 

My father ? [bowing Ms head before the old man. 
Matt, [laying his hand upon Manfred^s head. 
Tliou art blest already, son. 

Thou noble Manfred ! to a man like thee 

What dower can equal such a heart as hers ! 

Pure thou hast kept her ; pure she will remain ; 

For men like thee stain not the thing they love. 

And even their joys have still some smack of Heaven. 
Vin. 'T is truly spoke ! 

Syb. And Manfred's virtuous soul 

Has earn'd its joy by conquest over self. 
Man/. Praise my will only ; here lay all my power. 

[2)lacing his hand reverentially on the old marCs 
locks. All but Helen loolc surprised. 

Yes, when you learn the story of my strife 



132 THE SILVER HEAD 



With lust and pride, and how I won my wife, 
Tlie conquest, you will find I rightly said, 
Was owing all to this dear Silver Head. 

As he spealcs this, Manfeed, leing 
011 the old mail's right, has one hand 
gently laid on his veneraMe locks, while the 
other, his right, is in Mattison's right hand ; 
IIeleist, noio risen, is on her father's left, and in the 
same attitude, saving that she 2}^esses the old man's hair 
to her lips, gathering tip a cluster of the silver locJcs 
from his shoulder. The company, on either side 
of this 2)rincipal group, are arranged ac- 
cording to the nearness of their inter- 
ests in either Manfred or Helen. 

The Curtain falls 

upon the picture. 



K O T E S 



NOTES 



THE SILYEE HEAD 



1. — p. 10. Quiting — ] The compositor having doubled the t in 
this word, supposing it an error of copy, it occurs to me that it may 
be well to observe I mean the i should be pronounced long; quiting 
of Quite, not quitting of Quit. They are the same word. And there 
is no reason why there should not be Quite as well as Ee-quite, in the 
sense in which they are synonymous, if it be only for the uses of 
tlie poet, and to keep it in this usage distinct from Quit. It will 
be found again in the Double Deceit, Act IV., Sc. 2. — Chaucer so 
wrote and sounded the word. 

" And sLo that helmed was in starko stonres, 
And wan by force tounes stronge and tourcs, 
Shal on hire hed now were a vitremite : 
And she that bare the sceptre ful of flourcs. 
Shal here a distaf hire cost for to qniie." 

The 3fo7ikes Tale. 
(C T. ed. Tyrwiiitt. cr. Svo. Lond. ISSO. V. HI. p. ITi) 

" Te gon to Canterbury ; God you spede, 
The blisful martyr quite you your mede." 

Prol. to C. T. ib. I. p. 31. 

" I can a noble tale for the nones. 
With which I wol now quite the kniiihti'S tale." 

The Milleres Prologue, ib. TI n. L 



136 NOTES TO 

And just before, on the same page, we have quiten : 

" Now telleth ye, sire Monk, if that ye coimo, 
Somewhat, to quiten with [wherewWi, to quite] tlie Icniglites talt'."' 

I find also in one of my dictionaries a marginal reference to The 
Old Law, Act II., Sc. 2 ; but I cannot now verify the citation. 

In the mouth of Manfred, "quite" for "requite" is not an 
improbable expression, while "quit," in the same sense, would be 
both affected and unnatural. But the Actor may read quitting, if he 
will. 



2. — P. 12. — or left — ] That is, the right, as the audience 
sits. — And so, throughout these volumes ; right and left being 
always in reference to the Actor's position, as he faces the assem- 
blage. 

Further, I may here observe, for those unfamihar with the 
phraseology of the theatre, that up or upward in the stage-direc- 
tions means backward from the audience, while doivn or downward 
is towards the audience. — This also, throughout the volumes. 

3. — P. 49. Why this is capital! etc.] The stress of the voice in 
Manfred's part is on " is " : 

" Why this is capital ! M. WhatiVso? ft This— " 

If it be laid on " What," where it would fall more naturally, thougli 
not so elegantly, Oscar^s part must begin -^Why this ": 

" Why this is capital ! J/. What' is so? 0. Why, this— '" 

4. — P. 54. Most strange indeed, a man to keenly quick — ] For 
the Stage, "Very strange, a man, efc." ; which, though slightly 
defective in metre, is the proper reading, and in fact the original 
one. 



THE SILVER HEAD 137 



5. — P. 57. He touches Saffise on the shoulder, etc., etc.] This 
pantomime takes place whQe Manfred and Helen are conversing, 
but is very brief. 

6. — P. 71. WJiefher the book — ] For the Stage, omit from here 
to "and.'" 

7. — P. 72. Bless her — ] From here, five verses to be omitted. 

8. — P. 75. Whose delicate freshness, etc.] Omit this verse. 

9. — P. 75. And yet — ] Omit all of the soliloquy after these 
words. 

10. — P. 110. So queerly. etc.] Omit this line. 

11. — P. 113. Sir IF. efc.] Omit ten verses, commencing "Wliy, 
how you blush!" 

12. — P. 117. S\T K. Ah ! Yin. Fatal rashness ! Katt. Heavens! 
— Helen! — SpeaJc!] These three parts {Sir H, Vin., and Matt.) are 
spoken nearly simultaneously, and instantly after Manfred! s "I 
claim my wife." 

13. — P. 119. Middleuni, etc., to Her grandaunt was, etc.] In the 
original MS. is the following reading for these nineteen verses. 
But that of the text is preferable. The choice is with the Theatre. 

Sir If. Middleum — Ah! [fieemin/; to recollect something, and look- 
ing earnestly oii Medd. 

Medd. Tour eldest brother's daughter 

Sir IT. Elop'd with a young fellow of that name 

Medd. Who was an honest fellow not the less, 

Being the Ralph, but no more young, before you. 

\Osoar moves nearer to the group, and sJiotcs great interest. 



138 NOTES TO THE SILVER HEAD 



Sir IT. You are my niece's husband, then ? 

Medd. I was ; 
But not so poor a man, nor yet so mean, 
As to be anxious to assert the tie. 
Sir H. Tut I you mistake: you are most heartily welcome. 

[extending /lia hand. 
You may believe me, for I boast to be 
Frank as your cousin Manfred who stands hero. 
Medd. Now, that is kind. \_>ihaking Sir II.^s hand cordinUij. 

And, cousin, your hand too. \to Manf. 
'T is better this [to Osc, with a similar action., but lets hearty. 
than kicks and broken bones. 
Osc. Much. But a jolly way that was of yours, 
To pounce into acquaintance on one's back. 

[Sir If. and Manf. exchange looks of slight surprise. 
Sir n. And there 's another cousin still of j-ours. [indicating 

.<iihil with a nod. 
But lirst, what has this all to do with Helen ? 
Sybil coming forward gives her hand franki ij 
to Medd., ^cho takes it cordially and with marked 
admiration and surprise. 
Medd. A cousin this, worth traveling far to see. 
Syb. [smiling.] That by and by: pray speak of Helen now. 
Medd. Who is to me much nearer than you all ; 
For the same blood runs in the veins of both. 
Her grandaunt was, etc. 



THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



THE HUSBAND-LOVERS 



MDCCCLVI 



oil AR AC TEES, etc. 

Francesco Fosoari, Doge of Venice. 

Marco Foscaei, his hTother, Procurator of St. Marie. 

Aloise^ Foscari, Marco's son. 

Anselmo Barbadico, ~\ 

GiROLAMO Bembo, > Venetian gentlemen. 

Giovanni Moro, ) 

PiETRO LoREDANO, Admiral of the Venetian fleet. 

Stefano Mocenigo, of the Council of Ten. 

DoMENico Maripetro, a '•'■Signer of the Night.'''' 

A Captain of the '■'■ Signors of the Night.'''' 

His Lieutenant. 

A Chaplain. 

His irother-PHiEST. 

TiDo Surgeons. 

A Gondolier. 

IsoTTA, icife of Anselmo. 
LuTiA, tcife of Girolamo. 
GiSMONDA, a young and nolle widow, daughter of Giovanni 

Moro. 
Cassandra, Isotta''s maid. 
GiovANNA, Lutia''s maid. 
GiULiETTA, Gismonda's maid. 
An Old Woman. 

Mute Personages 

Memlers of the Council of Ten. — Six Counselors of the 

Doge; Members of the Criminal Quaranti'a ; and 

other bodies fo7-ming the College. 

A Laybrother. — Sbirri (archers of the day aud night police). 

A Jailer. 

Scene. Venice.i in the middle of the l~jth centurg. 



THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



Act the Fikst 

Scene I. A garden. Across the scene., a loio hedge of twisted 
reeds., dividing it into two. 

Enter. 
quicTdy ., from the right {in the foreground)^ 

ISOTTA. 

She trips along the hedge., and loolcing over it to the right, 
ela2)s her hands. 

hot. Come, Lutia! come, duck! now our bears are gone. — 
To herself] Little she dreams what spoi't is in the 
wind! 

Enter Lutia, 

also from the right., l>ut on the other 

side of the hedge. 



142 THE DOUBLE DECEll 



Lut. [hissing her. 

AVhat wast thou saying, Isotta mine? 

Isot. O what? 
Tlie ohl prayer, surely ; that the Lord would pleaso 
Convert the un-Ohristian hearts of our two lords, — 
Or break them — since thou, Lutia dear, and I 
Have too much heart to do it — as we might. 
Lut. Yes, as we might. 

Isot. Ah! say'stthou? Now, I wonder 
If with like cause. — But is it not a shame, 
We foster-sisters, and dear-loving friends. 
Should have our bodies parted — not our souls — 
By liouse-walls, or a garden-hedge as now, 
Because, forsooth ! in John Soranza's time, — 
Or my own ancestor's, for aught I know, 
Doge Gradenigo, — our good lords' bad foresires, 
Having less brains than mettle, and strong hands, 
Chose to break one another's heads. 

Lut. So we. 
Poor innocent girls, who married their descendants, 
Must live two years close neighbors, and not see 
The inside of each other's homes ! 

Isot. What if 
Our lords reserv'd that privilege for themselves ? 
Lut, Of seeing each other's houses? 

Isot. Ay. I know 
Of one lit least who is so curious. 

Lut. I 
As \yA\. 



ACT I. SC. 1, 143 

7s(j«. Thou? Talk'st thou thus again ? But come! 
Leap tliou thy neighbor's hedge : Cassandra keeps 
Excellent watch at home. 
LcTiA, bringing a footstool to the side of the hedge, stejys over 
it with the assistance of Isotta. 

So. — [They embrace and 
come forward. 
Did she not, 
My spouse would think this trespass nought to one 
Tliat I might tell him of, had I a mind. 
Lut. And so might mine, change but the side o' tlie hedge — 
Had I a mind. 

Isot. Hadst thou a mind ? Indeed ! 
Why what has thou to plain of, gentle dove ? 
LiLt. As much as thou 't may be, if not the same. 
Isot. "Well, to the proof. Thou 'It sorely be surpris'd, 
Angry perhaps at first. 

Lut. And so wilt thou. 
Isot. But then thou 'It laugh, I think. 

Lut. And so wilt thou. 

Isot. Tliy lord 

Lut. Thy lord 

Isot. Giro'lamo 

Lut. Anselrao 

Isot. Has 

Lut. Has 

Isot. Made luve to me. 

Lut. Made love to me. 
hot. Thoujest'st. My lord, the haughty and severe ! 



144 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



Lut. Messer Anselmo Barbadico — — 

Isot. Has! 

Lilt. Made love, not haughty nor severe, to me. 

IsoTTA loolcs at her for a moment confounded^ 
then hursts into a peal of laughter. 
Isot. Why, Lutia darling, this is double sport ! 

I came to make thee laugh and cry at once 

At thy lord's impudence ; and now, behold, 

I freeze and thaw in turn, to hear of mine I 

The Devil is in tlie men ! 

Lut. Perhaps they think 

The Devil 's in us. 

Isot. That well may he for me. 

The gay and gallant hairbraiu'd cavalier, 

Messer Girolamo, hopes to find sure game 

In such another rattle as himself. 

But what does grave Anselmo see to doubt 

In such a sober, gentle thing as thou? 
Lut. lie takes me for still water like himself. 
Isot. But if he has mistaken thy depth, my dear, 

We have sounded his : and that we '11 show anon. 

Now, were we like some Venice fair I know. 

Our lords might suffer somewhat, might they not? 
Lut. Now, Heaven forbid! That were to prove ourselves 

Worthy the wrong they do us, or would do. 

No, my Isotta, let us shame these n:en 

By showing we are above them. ' 

I>iot. So I mean. 

But we will punish too. What! when they smite 



ACT I. SC. 1. 145 

One of our cheeks, and we, as Christ bids, turn 
The other to them also, shall we not 
Show by the redness where the blow was given ? 
"We will, and call like color into theirs. 

Lnt. But not 
By striking. 

Isot. Only a love-pat. But first 

How long since my insatiate lord devoured 
With ogre eyes thy beauty ? Did he more ? 

Lut. With ogling eyes, thou mean'st. He did no more. 
And 't was enough to do, for two whole weeks. 
In street, and church, casino, and where not. 

Isot. For two whole weeks ! Thou lowly, shrinking violet ! 
I knew my queenly roses were more prizM. 
For one whole month thy more judicious master 
Has tried to bring them nearer to his eyes. 

Lut. How know'st thou that ? 

Isot. By trying, simple lady : 
As thou didst, I suppose. At first, surprise 
Made me distrust the Signor Bembo's eyes. 
But seeing them shine, and with no devious ray, 
Upon his neighbor's garden, day by day, 
I fear'd the truth, and so, to j^robe my fear, 
Stoop'd once my delicate flower-stalk more near. 
In other words, one morn, when full of fun, 
I looked askance, and lo ! tlie work was done. 
Was it not so with thee? 

Lut. In reason, yes; 
Although I cannot answer thee in rhyme. 
Vol. IV. - 7 



146 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



I saw and doubted ; doubting then, I saw. 
Shock'd and alarm'd, in mischief half, half fright, 

I sidelong look'd as thou 

Isot. And saw the light. 
Ha, ha ! — And thus it is that men decide ! 
Curious to know, or vain to mark, our power, 
"We give some day one moment's answering look 
To all the thousand we receive. At once, 
Fired with the hope of conquest, the gallant. 
Who never asks himself if our self-love 
Or his attractions move us, lays close siege 
And calls us to surrender. Yet men say, 
We are the vainer ! 

Lut. And I think we are. 
At least they are the honester. Besiege 
Or storm, their war is still in earnest. We 
Fight often without object, come to terms, 
Or parley but to make a safe retreat. 
And, if 't be gain'd by treachery, we laugh. 
Isot. So will we now, and they shall be asham'd. 
Help me, dear Lutia, to some rare device 
Shall prove we are the better. 

Lilt. First 't were well 
To make sure of their purposes. 

Isot. Thou doubt'st, 
Thou jealous pate ! Girolamo should prefer 
My livelier graces to thy sober charms. 
Yet scruplest not to think those sober charms 
Have caught Anselmo's fancy! Fie, oh fiel 



ACT I. SC. 1. 147 

That 's vanity, that 's prejudice, that 's to see 
"With purblind vision. 

Lut. Better so to see. 
Than see with eyes that magnify, or give 
False colors or distorted forms to things. 
What can we know ? This courtship of the eyes 
May be but idleness, caprice at most, 
Or masculine vanity : perhaps to try 
Our virtue. 'T is so very odd that both 
Should at one time conceive the same designs ! 

hot. But quite as odd at least, that two sworn foes 
Should league together to try each other's wives. 
And that each for his separate self should tempt 
His enemy's but to ascertain her worth — 
Poh ! that 's too generous : Cato's days are past, 
Though borrowing wives is full as rife as ever. 
As for mere vanity, or idle whim. 
We soon shall see that. Wilt thou give them play ? 

Lut. Encourage them ? Fie, Isotta ! 

Isot. Wherefore, fie ? 
Is not Anselmo dear to me, as is 
Girolamo to thee ? Or deem'st thou haply, 
I have designs ? I were more secret then. 

Lut. No, no, that is nonsense! I but mean 
We stain our reputations, seeming even 
To countenance their folly. I regret 
To have gone so far as now. 

Isot. So do not I ! 
How should we find them out? And that we will ; 



148 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



And make them blush in the bargain. 

Lut. At the cost 
Of our own deeper blushes, and the risk 
Of terrible results. 

hot. Now that is nonsense. 
Why, silly child ! is not our secret one ? 
And will not the disclosure be ? The most 
To dread is our lords' anger. That we '11 risk. 
The game is worth it. Who shall say ? perhaps 
Our plot may end with making two sworn foes 
Fast friends. 

Lut. Ah, might that be! 

Isot. If then 
'T were Christian to effect it, 't is our part 
As Christians to attempt it. 

Lut. Reason good, 
But not the true one. 

Isot. Not for me. I own 
I am just so naughty — mind thou, nothing more! 
To like this mischief for itself. 'T will be 
The rarest fishing! thou with thy soft looks 
To hook the mullet Barbadico, I 
"With craftier angling catch that nimble trout 
Girohimo. 

Litt. And when they 're brought to land? 
Isot. Why then — we '11 roast them. 

Lut. 'Faith, there '11 be a stew 
Isot. Go get thy lines in order. 

Lut. What to do? 



ACT I. SC. 1. 149 

Isot. Do even as Nature prompts thee : need'st thou ask ? 

But let us join our maidens in the work. 
Lut. Gladly ; 't will be new evidence. 

Isot. \looTcing off the scene to 
the right. 
But see ! 
The signal waves. My bear is coming home. 

[Embracing, helps Lut. over the hedge. 
Eemember now, be bold. We '11 try Avhose spouse 
Will make the best gallant. 

Lut. I '11 wager, mine. 
Isot. I, mine, so thou wilt lure him. Ply thine eyes. 

In street or room, in playhouse or at mass. [Lutia 
going ; Isot., also going on her side, 
shaking her Jist. 
O signor mine ! I '11 make thee such an ass I 

[Exetint. 



150 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 

Scene II. 
Tlce Piazzetta^ or smaller Square of St. MarTc. 

On one side., the Ducal Palace., with the Church of St. Mark 
adjoining. On the other the '■'■ Procuratie''^ {official 
apartments of the '•^ Procurators of St. Marh''^). Oppo- 
site the Church, the Pell- Tower. In the hacTcground are 
seen the two Columns, loith their statues, one of St. MarTc, 
the other of St. Theodore. — Near the columns a group 
of women. Persons of various classes are walking ahout. 
And on the '■'■ Broglio'''' (nol)lemen''s waUc on the Palace 
side of the Square) are distinguished, l>y their sahle 
gowns, the nobles. 

Miter 

IsoTTA, icith Cassandea hehind her, 

the latter carrying a missal. 

Then, 

at a little distance, following them, 

GiROLAMO. 

As they cross the stage, Isotta loolcs TyacTc over her shoulder 

invitingly o?i Girolamo, then Exiticith Cassandra 

at the left. Gieolamo comes forward. 

Girol. Ell, ell ! the fruit is ripening fast. Metliinks 
'T will need but little shaking. N"ow, the maid 
Leer'd on me too, with most significant eye. 



ACT I. SC, 2. 151 

Is she the guardian of thy orchard-wall, 
Messer Anselmo, I am apt to climb. — 
What if I follow, and invite the girl 
By signs to parley? If the lure succeed, 
'T is well. If not, I can but cast again. 

l^Exit after them. 

Enter Anselmo. 

He holds a small and tightly folded note. 

Ansel. Madonna Lutia, either thou art false 
And a fit partner of thy flippant spouse, 
Or thou respondest to my passionate love. 
Thy soul should be the mate of mine : thy mien 
Tokens deep thought, and on thy pensive brow 
Is no coquetry. Have I won thy heart? — 
Shouldst thou betray me ; read my written vows. 
As women will do, to thy jeering friends! 
The sword of my hereditary foe, 
That were a trifle ; but to face the laugh. 
The scorn perhaps, of half of Venice, who 
Would deem my passion a dishonest plot 
Against my enemy's peace ! "Were better death. — 
But is there danger ? Here is writ no name, 
Neither her own nor mine ? What could she prove ? 
Given in her hand at this convenient hour. 
By one of those she-Mercuries [looking up the scene^ 
on the groiq) near the columns. 
whose post 



152 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



Is here in public and who know me not, 
'T is hers or not, just as she lists ; but not, 
She cannot charge the missive unto me. 
Hark thou, old woman ! [ieckoning to one of the group. 
But, "before Tie can repeat the call, or has 
attracted notice, 

Enter, from the left, 

LUTIA with GlOVANNA. 

Heaven ! here 's Lutia's self! 
Ltjtia crosses the stage close before him, looMng 
sidelong but demurely at him, and, just as she passes 
him, drops her handkerchief. Anselmo picks it in- 
stantly up, folds the note in it, and hands it to her. As she 
returns his boics, and curtsies her achnowledgment, Lutia 
shoics consciousness and embarrassynent. Exit with 
GiovANNA, at the right. 
'T is done now — as I did not think to do it. 
But so 't is better, though undesign'd. That blush ! 
That conscious look ! Ah here is no betrayal ; 
No treachery lurks beneath those drooping lids ! — 
"Was not that handkerchief dropp'd on purpose too, 
That I might speak or touch her hand ? — Girolamo, 
Thou 'It pay my grandsire's dues against thy House ! 
But in a coin thou wilt not care to count. — 
What shall I do, to master this wild joy ? 
'T will make a fool of me. — I'll take my gondola, 
And rove about until my blood is cool. 



ACT I. SC. 2. 163 

Pausing a moment^ to looh in the 

direction which Lutia had taken, he goes tip the stage, passes 

through the groups, and Exit. 

Re-enter, from the left, Cassandra 
follotoed hy Girolamo. 

She looks half-round, coquettishly, upon him, 

as her mistress had done. Girolamo stops her, and leads 

her forward. 

Girol. A word, my pretty damsel. What 's thy name ? 

[chucking her binder the chin. 
Cass. Cassandra, Excellence. 

Girol. Cassandra? Not, 
I hope, a prophetess of ill to me ? 
Cass. Ill ? O, I wish you all the good, I 'm sure. 

That — somebody I wot of wishes you. 
Girol. That somebody is not thy master. 

Cass. No : 
Not he indeed ! Now, should I like to tell 
Who 't is. But you would tell it, too. 

Girol. Who? I? 
Not I, child ! There, [kissing her. 

Now, if I tell, thou canst 
Tell that of me. 

Cass. fie ! in the open Square ! 
A gentleman — an humble girl like me ! 

Girol. Who sees ? 
[looking up the stage. 
Or who would mind it, if he did ? The world 



154 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



Is much too busy with its own intrigues. 
Come ; who is my well-wisher ? 

Cass. You '11 keep faith? 
Girol. Have I not given you pledge ? 

Cass. Well, do 't again, 
Lest you forget it. [^Girol. — first looking tip the stage 
— hisses her again. 
Girol. What a jade it is ! 
If like the maid the mistress, as they say, 
I have been belike too modest. 

Cass. That she 's not. 
She would not let you kiss her in the street. 
Girol. In the house, then. But, prithee, what 's her name ? 

Is it thy mistress then that means me well? 
Cass. What 's she you look'd on amorously but now, 

She I attended from St. Fantin's church ? 
Girol. The Ser Anselmo Barbadico's spouse. 
Cass. Daughter of Messer Marco Gradenigo, 
Late Procurator of St. Mark, and nam'd 
Isotta. 
Girol. Even so much I knew. 

Cass. Is she 
Worthy a gallant gentleman's devoir? 
Girol. Worthy ! Where is her equal, far or near ? 
Cass. Is not Madonna Lutia fairer ? 

Girol. Come ! 
I want no sermons, though thou 'rt fresh from church. 
I do adore thy lady. 

Cass. And she, vou. 



ACT I. SC. 2. 166 

Girol. My dear Cassandra ! [hugging her. 

Cass. Keep away ! Am I 
My lady's rival? And think where we are. 
Now, yon must know when late you pass'd us by, 
Madonna said, "Cassandra, there 's a leg !" 
Girol. Thou liest, thou little rogue ! 

Cass. I did not say. 
She said, "Behold a good one!" nor, "a stout." 
She simply cried, " A leg." She saw the heel : 
The rest was hidden in your sable gown. 
Girol. T swear T '11 beat thee, Cassy!' 

Cass. Will you now ? 
Then T am off. What did you stop me for ? 

[affecting to go. 
Girol. I '11 tell thee presently, [takes out his x>urse. 

See thou here, [opening it. 
Cass. Oh stay, 
There 's something more, though not about the leg. 
One day, when you were standing by your door. 
Caressing a small dog, my lady said, 
Sighing, "I would I were that little cur!" — 
"Madonna, why?" — "Because" — she sigli'd 

again — 
"The Ser Girolamo has so white a hand." 
Girol. Say'st thou, my mocking waiting- woman ? Well, 
Let thy mirth pay thee, [affecting to put hacJc his 

jntrse. 
Thou 'rt a little fool. 
Cass. I were, to let you go away displeas'd. 



156 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



A hand and leg are really no mean parts. 
Yet not for those alone my lady loves you. 
Oirol. Canst thou be serious for one moment? 

Cass. Two. 
What does your Excellence command? 

Girol. Take this. 
[giving her a ducat of gold. 
Cass. Is it for me, or for my mistress ? 

Oirol. Pish! 
Here is another piece of gold. Wilt thou 
Bear me a message to thy lady's ear? 
Cass. yes, I '11 tell her that you doat on legs, 

And wish you were the mass-book in her hands. 
Girol. Hark thou, fair Trojan ! I am mirthful too ; 
But there 's a time for all things. See thou then, 
We shall be noted, standing here so long. 
Cass. And what too, should my master come this way ! 

[draws lier scarf over her head. 
Oirol. [his hand upon her arm. 

Come then, if thou wilt prate, beneath the arches ; 
Or, follow me to my gondola. 

Cass. No, no. 
Be brief; and pardon me. I did impose 
On your good temper. 

Oirol. Wilt thou bear my word ? 
Cass. I will, and truly. 

Oirol. But how do I know 
Thy lady is not mocking me through thee? 
Cass. By your own eyes, which must have seen ere this 



ACT I. SC. 2. 157 

"What passes iii Madonna's heart ; and by 
Your consciousness that as you are not pleas'd 
"With Monna Lutia, so Messer' Anselmo 
May be too owlish for my hxdy's taste. 
Like pairs with like : and ye are like. 

Girol. Well said. 
Thou art a cunning giglet. Plead my cause. 
There is thy fee. If thou shouldst gain my suit, 
Thou hast the triple of it. 

Cass. "What to sue ? 
Girol. Sue for an hour's meeting. Where and when 
I leave to her own gracious will. 

Cass. How sue ? 
Oirol. Sue by my passion; sue by her own charms ; 
Ask in thy own heart — 't is a woman's ; there 
Are all thy law-books, — and thou hast thy brief. 
Go, pretty advocate, and bring me fortune. 
Cass. You are a gallant gentleman. I would, 
In sooth I would, it were another suit 
Than to your neighbor's wife. 

Girol. Thou 'rt not to preach. 
The worse my cause, the better shalt thou plead. 
Paint what I feel ; thou canst not paint too warmly : 
Say what thou seest; but see with kindly eyes. 
Cass. And shall I tell her all ? 

Girol. Tell all — but tliis. 

\hissing her. 
Cass, [extricates herself with a laugh, then, shaJcing her 
finger at him. 



158 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



Nay, I '11 tell all ; it were a sin to miss. 
A leg ! a hand ! and O ma'am, such a kiss ! 

[Exit Cass, at the left. 

GiEOLAMO loohing after Tier a moment^ 

half in vexation, half in satisfaction.! goes up the stage to 

mingle with the nobles on the Broglio., and 

Scene closes. 



Scene III. 
The Garden — as in Scene I. 

ISOTTA. LUTIA. GlOVANNA. 

Isot. [looMng uj) from a letter she has heen reading. 

So far, thou hast won the wager. Who 'd havi 
thought 
The dignified Auselmo was so sly? 
So boldly gallant too ! and so adroit ! 
Lut. 'T was featly done. He must have had good practice 
Isot. Ay, but the kerchief was as nicely dropp'd, 

I must be cautious : thou art stately too. 
Lut. Fie now, Isotta I Jealous ? 

Isot. Jealous ? Hum ! 



ACT I. SC. 3. 159 

'T is the scant brook tliat bubbles o'er the stones ; 
Deep lakes ai*e placid. 

Lut. Always ? Now, methinks, 
Rough waters do most mischief. 

Isot. Let us see. [affecting 
anxiously to read the letter. 
Here are a dozen fires, and pains, and faiths : 

sanctity ! And here Why here, he boasts 

Of favoring looks ! 

Lut. I never gave but one — 
Always except this last, which was agreed. 
And then the note was written. 

Isot. Mere evasion ! 
"Would he have ventur'd else ? so proud ? so shy ? 
Thou art the lake. Thy depths shall not ingulf 
My treasure, my lord's love. 

Lut. Isotta dear ! 
Jsot. Thou shalt not grant this meeting which he prays : 

1 will not trust thee. 

Lut. Tliou shalt have no need. 
'T was not my project ; and I like it not. 

But seems it 

Isot. Peace ! I will have my revenge. 

Enter Cassandra, in great glee. 

Now comes my turn. — 

Lut. Giovanna, to the house. 
And watch for both. [Exit, over the hedge, Giovanna. 



160 THE r)OUBLE DECEIT 



hot. Well ! Hast thou lur'd the hawk ? 
Did the trout nibble? Is the leopard snar'd? 
Cass. See liere ! {holding up the two gold, pieces. 
And here — and here — and here : 
[touching her lips with her hand three times. 
And here again ! [jyuts her arm around her oicn waist 

caressingly . 
Isot. Three kisses, and a hug! 
Why here 's a brave gallant ! What say'st thou now ? 

[to Lut. 
Thy man is worse than mine ! [Lutia has turn''d away. 

Why, Lutia dear. 
Thou art not crying? Couldst thou think indeed, 
That I was jealous? Jealous? Jealous, I? 
And jealous too of thee? My own dear girl. 
My sister ! Thou shalt have Anselrao all. 
And keep Girolamo too. Now, do but laugh ! 
Lut. How can I laugh to know my lord so vile? 
Isot. Vile ? Art thou crazy ? He is but a man ; 
Girolamo Bembo, not Girolamo Saint. 
Why what a child thou beest! I'll wager now 
My wedding-robes against thy bedroom-gown, 
This wanton tempted him. Come, didst thou not ? 
Cass. Only one kiss. The rest were volunteer'd. 
The hug was all his own. 

Isot. [laughing heartily, while Lutia 

smiles. 
Eh, Lutia, see ! 
This jolly wight was surely meant for me. 



ACT I. SO. 3. 161 

How wilt thou change him for my sober lord ? 
Lut. \to Cass. 

But what was all this for ? 

Cass. This what, Madonna? 
This kissing? or this hugging ? In good sooth, 
I think he took me for my lady here. 
Isot. Out, baggage ! Am I such a colt as thou ? 
Cass. I cannot tell, Madonna ; but he said, 

He had been too modest, — mistress like, like maid. 
Lut. There now, Isotta ! 

Isot. 'T is her wanton pranks. 
Thou hast overdone thy part, thou naughty jade ! 
What didst thou tell him ? 

Cass. That you prais'd his leg — 
Although you never saw it. 

Lut. Brava! ^ yiearhj 

Isot. Heigh! f together. 
Cass. And seeing his white hand on a greyhound lie, 

You wish'd yourself the puppy for its sake. 
Isot. I vow I'll beat thee ! 

Cass. So he threaten'd too. 
You are so alike ! 

Isot. I '11 pinch thee black and blue ! 
Thou hast marr'd our acting. 

Cass. No, I mind my cue. 
I made him think you so ador'd his face. 
He fairly hugg'd me — in the public place! 
Lut. Thou hast taught her well — thy rhyming too, I see. 
Isot. But never mind; the hug was not for thee. — ■ 



162 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



And finally, what bring'st thou from my swain ? 
Cass. These golden ducats. 

hot. They 're for thee, not me, 
Cass. To plead his passion. 

Isot. A retaining-fee. 
Cass. The suit once won, my client makes the twain 
A pair of triplets. 

Isot. Briefly, what to gain? 
Thou keep'st Madonna Lutia in her pain. 
Cass. Messer Girolamo bids me thus to sue. 
By his own passion, by his lady's charms — 
That is not Monna Lutia's ? — you would grant 
Your knight an interview ; the when and where, 
That leaves he safely to your modest self 
Isot. Ha, ha! 'T is done! We 're quits: the game is 
square. 
Thy note is match'd. Was ever such a pair ! 
lut. Nay, thy Anselmo was the first to woo. 
Isot. But thy Girolamo has courted two. 

His suit takes time : too fiery to be stay'd. 
He tries his mettle on my waiting-maid ! 
Cass. Perhaps 'twas ofter'd as a sample-bliss : ~ 

I told him I should recommend his kiss. 
Lut. Now what 's to do ? 

Isot. Is that a point to moot ? 
Do as kind ladies, grant to each his suit. 
Now, shut that little mouth! [putting her hand on 

Lutia'' s lips. 
I '11 not hear nay. 



ACT 1. SC. 3. 



163 



"We '11 meet the pair. 

Lut. But not in their own way? 
hot. No, plan we both ; thou in thy closet, sweet. 
And I in mine. 

Lut. To plot, when next we meet. 
Isot. Adieu! Take this — and this — and this: [hissing 

her three times. 
this too. 
{hugging her. 

Cassandra brought them. 

Lut. But to give to you. 

Isot. I wave my right. 

Lut. {hissing her in turn. 

Nay, keep them : they 're thy due. 
[ Goes over the hedge. 

Isot. How is 't, Cassandra? 

Cass. I no diflference see : 
Ye have the shells ; the oyster rests with me. 
Lut. [from over the hedge, and going. 
Adieu, Isotta ! 

Isot. 'Driua,* let us flee. 

[Bxeimt omnes. 



164 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



Act the Second 
Scene I. A room in the house of Giovanni Mora. 

MORO. GlSMONPA. 

Moro. It boots not to remonstrate ; I am fix'd : 
The Doge's nephew shall not enter here. 

Gism. PoorAloise! I have heard thee say, 
Father, he was a brave and noble youth. 

Moro. Thou niay'st again, if that will do thee good. 
The son of Marco Foscari, men report, 
Is a magnanimous and right valiant soul. 
Though rash and over-ardent : faults perhaps 
These of his yet young blood. I grant him too 
One quality more, appropriate to his rank, 
That thy late husband wanted. He is rich ; 
At least will be, when Marco sleeps with Mark. 
Poor Niccold Delfino, though a brave 
Good husband and right worshipful cavalier, 
Left thee scant store of zecchins. 'T Avas thy choice. 
I have not repented then I gave thee way.' 
But now I will not. 

Gism. Yet, dear father, liear! 

Moro. Not a word more ! Must I repeat, Gisnionda, 
That with the hated blood of Francis Foscari 
No drop of Loredano's ever mingles? 



ACT II. SC. 1. 165 

Oism. Ours is so small a drop ! We are but cousins, 

Four times remov'd. And thou hat'st not the Foscari. 
2foro. No, but I am the Admiral Pietro's friend. 

He scorn'd the Doge's daughter for his son : 

I cannot give the nephew of the Doge 

My only child ; and for a twofold cause. 

First, I should rouse dark Loredano's hate ; 

A fearful man! that never yet forgave; 

Then Marco Foscari's, who has promisVl, thou know'st, 

His son to Lisa, daughter of his friend. 

The rich Avvogadore, Morosini. 
Gism. Alas! 

Moro. Alas ? Alas for me, thou meanest. 

Should I not waken too the Doge's ire ? 

Blunt though I be, I want no man's ill will, 

Though I court no man's favor. 

Oism. But these feuds ! 

Father, there arc our neighbors, the Messeri 

Bembo and Barbadico : who can hate 

More cordially than they ? whose sires, they tell. 

Even in Doge Soranza's time — that 's now 

More than a hundred years — were foes. Yet see ! 

They married foster-sisters and warm friends. 

Who for their sakes meet never, save abroad. 
Moro. What 's that to Marco Foscari's son and thee? 

His sire is not consenting as theirs were. 

I have no feud with Foscari. But I say — 

A plague upon thy womans-cares! I say — 

I say, I '11 not wake Loredano's spite. 



166 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



Let the Duke's nephew carry his pretensions 

To Lisa; this is interdicted ground, 

Like Bembo's house to Barbadico's spouse. 

Gism. Poor Aloise! his impassion'd soul 

Moro. Impassion'd pudding ! What 's his soul to me ?' 
Go get thee a new lover ; men are cheap. 

Gism. I had not thought to hear this from those lips. 
Men cheap, my father ? Is it then of men 
Like Aloise Foscari thou speakest ? 
Brave as his warlike uncle, generous, just, 
Sagacious, resolute, where wilt thou find 
More honor for our House, a stouter prop 
For thy declining years, a nobler hope 
For thy large heritage through thy only child, 
Than the Duke's nephew, Marco Foscari's heir? 
As lofty a spirit as ever grac'd a throne !' 

Moro. "Were it the Duke himself, I might relent, 
But being his nephew only, I will not.' 
As for the honor, Foscari is no more 
Than Moro ; for my years, as yet, thank God ! 
They are not much o'er the hill-top ; when declining 
Into the vale, I '11 hear thee talk of props. 
And for my heritage, 't is no fault of mine 
Thy bed is yet a widow's. Make thy choice. 
So he be not a citizen or tradesman. 
Gambler or brawler, drnnkard or a thief, 
John Moro will not say Gismonda nay.° 

Gism. My choice is made : I cannot change it, father. 
My faith is given : thou wouldst not have it broke ? 



ACT 11. SC. 1. 167 

Moro. Then so are mine. And this is choice and faith : 
Let Foscari be thy lover, an' thou will ; 
But it shall not be in thy father's house. 
Thou hast been wedded ; thou canst make thy home 
Even where thou wilt. But let thy scanty means 
Furnish thy narrow household. By St. John ! 
I will not give one zecchin in thy aid ! 
Gism. O be not so obdurate ! 

Moro. Not one zecchin I 
If Marco to his disobedient son 
Will prove more kind, I wish thee joy of it. [Going. 

Gism. Be not so angry, dear my father ! 

Moro. \breaking from her ; hut coldly i\ Peace! 

Gism. If Aloise 

Moro. Be a fool, must thou ? 
Thou hast heard my reasons, and thou knowest my 

will. 
Do thy own pleasure. But of this rest sure : 
If Procurator Marco's son come in, 
Messer Delfino's widow shall go out.'° \_Exit. 
Gism. And I might find it in my heart to do so, 
Thou art so unsympathetic, and so harsh. 
But thou wouldst then be childless and alone. 
Childless alone ! Heaven pardon me the thought I 
'T was sinful-selfish. And then Aloise ! 
To involve him in distress I — But what to do ? 
It is his hour! — 
Goes hastily to a door in tlie liach of the scene, and opens it, 
displaying a corridor. 



THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



What, Giulietta!" [clapping her hands. 
Quick ! — 
If they should meet I My father's sullen mien — 
And his quick temper! — 

Enter ^ through the door, 
Giulietta. 

To the basement ! haste ! 
Is Messer Aloise landed, lead him 
Somewhere away, and tell him this from me: 
My sire has knowledge of his visits here 
And will not longer bear them. Does he love me. 
He will not press to come — • not now ; ray father 
Is sullen, when oppos'd. — If not yet come, 
"Wait thou his gondola, and wave him off 
To the next Canal. There haste to meet him. Go. 
Bid him have patience. 

[Exit Giulietta. 

Patience ? And I need 
So much myself! I made so sure to-day 
That I should see him ! I so little thought 
My father would be adverse ! — Aloise ! 
"Wilt thou preserve unstain'd thy maiden faith ? — 
Between two hostile influences ; and the charms 

Of Lisa Morosini O my heart ! 

The sacrifice which threatens will prove hard. — 

If Aloise tempt me to rebel 

My lonely sire ! Again that selfish thought. 
I must not think it. Yet these senseless feuds ! 



ACT II. SC. 2. 169 

What are their hates to us ? If Marco Foscari, 
"Who dotes upon his gallant son, give way, 
(My sire is rich as Lisa's, — may he not ? ) 
And move my colder father ! dear hope ! 
Let me not lose thee ! Though it rain to-day, 
The sun shines out to-7norrow. Then comes peace — 
Comes father's blessing — comes joy — comes Aloisel 

[Exit. 



Scene IL 

The Piazetta — as in Act I. Sc. II. 

In the hacl-ground, scattered groujJs and fromenaders. 

After some momentx, 

Enter^ from the side, Gutlietta, 

followed hy Ai.oise. 

She comes foricard, stops, and awaits him. 

Alo. What is it, girl ? How fares thy lady ? Speak ? 
Giul. Well. Messer Aloise ; well, but vex'd. 
Vol. IV.- S 



170 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



His Excellence, my master, — wlio, be 't said 
Between us, is the Grossest crab alive — 
Always sour and sullen, as if he meant to snap, 
Like the old crocodile on the pillar-top 

Of San Teodoro yonder 

Alo. Well, well, well I 

Glul. Has been I suppose in such an ugly mood, 
Madonna bade me haste to you, to say 
You are not to come to the palace any more ; 
His Excellence has found you out. — 

Alo. Me out? 

Giul. Both of you out : which is a burning shame ; 
I made so sure your Excellence and she 
Would one of these days be fix'd together fast, 
Like Adam and Eve at Marco's corner yon. 

Alo. Art thou quite sure ? 

Giul. As I am standing here. 
I know it because she bade you patience have. 
She had not done this, had she not made sure 
You 'd not have any. 

Alo. O Giulietta dear! 
To-day I was to have seen her. T is so long 
Since I have heard her speak, except to say 
Good-morrow, or Good-even! Canst thou not 
Admit me for a little while, — by stealth. 
If so it must be ? 

Giul. Now ? Messere, no. 
The master is at home. And so ray lady 
Bids you take note, " he is sullen if oppos'd." 



ACT II. SC. 2. 171 

Which means you must, I take it, for her sake. 
Not put your fingers in the old crab's claws. 
"Does he love me, he will not press," she said, 
"Not now, to come." 

Alo. I will not then, not now. 
But now is not forever. When her sire 
Is no more at the house, then may I come. 
Go back and tell her, Giuliet, I will wait — 
Until she hang some signal — say, a glove, 
Out at her window. Never sliake thy head. 
Who shall know aught of it? Is the Casa Mora 
Not built like other noble houses here ? 
The women's rooms are in the hinder part, 
Divided from the men's ?" Is not that so ? 

Giul. Happily so. A wise provision, where 
Such gruff old lords as Messer Moro rule. 
Unhappily though, or happily, for you, 
Just as you rate Madonna, she is built 
Unlike some other noble ladies here. 
At least in the inside. She will not consent 
To have you come to the hinder part of the house. 

Alo. I did not mean it, girl. I but beseech her 
To make some sign when she shall be prepar'd 
To admit me as before. 

Giul. That cannot be ; 
Not till this storm, whate'er it be, is over. 
When sudden winds sweep over the Lagune, 
Your gondoliers make instantly for the shore. 
And wait till the flurry is spent. So mnst you do. 



172 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



Or look to get a ducking, or be drown'd. 

Mouna Gismonda begs you will have patience. 

When it 's fair weather, Messer A.loise, 

You can put out again. 

Alo. But until then! 

But until tlien ! Think of my torments, girl ! 

And think of hers ! Have pity on us both I 

I have so much to say ! I cann/ot rest 

Until I know what this new trci)uble is. 

And she, how she must long to Jtell me ! Go I 

Go, tell her that I must, I must, will see her! 

Go, for thy lady's sake, if not for mine ! 
Giul. How does your Excellence kmow Madonna suffers? 
Alo. By my own feeling. If she do not long, 

And in her longing suffer, as A do ; 

If she would not give up a we ek of life 

For one hour's talk with me, a as I would gladly, 

a whole twelvemonth ! foi^ an hour with her. 
Then will I beg no more ; ishe is unworthy 

Of love like mine. 

Giul. She is n^ot ! not unworthy! — 
Now, do not stop this litthja brain of mine ; 

1 am contriving. — Let nfiiie see. — I have it ! 
How will the night do ? /Could you talk in the dark, 
In the open air, as well fAs in a room ? 

Alo. Dear Giulietta ! Giul' .ettina ! Speak!" 

[ta?i-i7ig her hands. 
Giul. Pray, don't make lovt > to me. Now, do keep still ! 
'T is not in the dark he? re, tho' it 's open enough. 



ACT II. SC. 2. 



And I am not Madonna. Since you know 
So well the woman's side of the house, you know 
There are balconies" on the second floor 
To all the windows. Could your Excellence climb 
To the large middle one ? 'T is not a steep 
So easy as the Bell-Tower ; nor the view 
Quite so extensive ; but you '11 like it better. 
Alo. You are an angel ! [ahout to hug Tier. 

Gild. Now, now, do forbear ! 
I am ticklish. — Well, what will your Excellence do? 
And what shall I? 

Alo. Do? do? Go back at once. 

Say to Madonna, will she please let down 

At what hour were it best? 

Gild. About the fourth. 
'T will then be midnight, and the Ca '' Veniero 
"Will like our own be quiet. 

Alo. — Will she please 

With her fair hands let down 

Gild. Or better, mine, 

Which are not fair 

Alo. Peace, saucy one ! — Letdown 
From the mid window, when St. Mark tolls four,'^ 
A length of cord, I will make fast thereto 
A hempen ladder. 

Gild. Which we two draw up 
With our four hands, and fasten to the rails. 
Well, Messer Aloise ; but ill-reckon'd. 
There is this to add to the account : Madonna 



174 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



May not consent. 

Alo. ITow canst tliou be so cruel ? 
Hast thou not words ? and canst thou not persuade ? 
Thou knowest her humor well. But tell her this — 
And it is solemn truth ; I shall not rest 
Until I see her; care will murder sleep. 
Tell her, O tell her, all that thou canst tliink, 
All thy own heart may teacli, to move her pity. 
Thou canst not say too much, or make my love 
More than it is, my suffering than 't Avill be. 
Take thou this ring, Giulietta. 'T is a ruby 
Of no mean value. Wear it for my sake, 
An earnest of the good I mean to do thee. 
Wilt thou be kind. 

Giul. No, Messer Aloise. 
You are a generous young lord, I see, 
As men report you, and Madonna thinks. 
But keep the ring. I need it not from you. 
"When you are wedded to Madonna Mora, 
Then will I take your presents. Now, farewell. 
If I can win Madonna to consent. 
She will to-night admit you, it may be 
Even to her chambers, since I shall be there. 
Alo. Dear Giulietta ! 

Gitd. Not yet ; not so fast. 
St. Geminy ! Take heed ! if not more slow 
To-night in climbing, you may get a fall. — 
Once more : — In half an hour, pass you the house. 
If I have won Madonna to your suit. 



ACT II. SC. 2. 175 

You will see a red string hanging from the casement. 
'T is there, at that balcony, you will mount, {going. 

Alo. Giulietta! Giuliettina! Stop, awhile. 
Thou art a precious maiden. When I make 
Monna Gismonda mine, then will I find thee 
A brave young husband for thyself. 

Giul. Like you? 
Thank you, Messere. Such a one shall need 
No ladder to climb up to me. Farewell, [going. 

Alo. 'T is thou art hasty, now. Thou hast not heard all. 
To-night I'll fling a pebble at the casement. 
When the bell tolls ; so will she know 't is I. 

Giul. You are then quite sure Madonna is to yield? 

Alo. Sure in your dextrous handling. 

Giul. Right! How else? 
I have two men to throw for : you for her, 
And a brave husband like yourself for me. 

[Exit. 
Aloise stands still a moment, loohs about Mm, 
then sloicly follows her. 



176 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 

Scene III. 
The Apartment of Gismonda. 

A room haring a large casement-icindow^ extending to the 
floor^ and opening on a lalcony. 

GiSMOXDA 

tralJcing impatlenthj ahout. 

Gism. What can detain her ? What is there to say ? 
He is filhng now her happy ears with words — 
Words of deep love and passionate prayer — for me : 

He is teaching lier persuade me 

listening.^ Was that she ? 
jSTo ; 't was the sea-breeze playing through the blinds. — 
He is teaching her to move me to have pity. 
Ah, Aloise! Aloise! here, 
Here, here already, all the words of love 
That thou canst send me, in my brain are stirring : 
The heart inspires them fast as thou canst speak ; 
They plead as warmly for thee, as thy words. 
Even could I hear thy own lips utter them, 
Could plead for thee ; they plead to my own heart, 
Coming from my heart, and plead too for my heart. 
O in this void that is such pleasing pain, 

This thrilling of the pulse 

starting^ That! that is she! 



ACT II. BC. 3. 177 

Runs eagerly to the side scene 

as Enter Giulietta. 

GisMONDA draiDs her eagerly foricard. 

At last! at last! I thought that thou wast dead. 
Gild. I am almost dead with running — up the staircase. 
Gism. What said he? What said Messer Aloise? 
Gild. What did he? What did Messer Aloise? 

he 's a rare gallant ! 

Gism. Quick ! Giulietta ! 
What said he ? 

Gild. Messer Niccolo Delfino 

Gism. Leave Messer Niccolo Delfino bury'd. 
Giul. With all my heart. He has been two years fast 
sleeping ; 

1 do not wish to wake him. He was but 
A log to J ur new liusband, that will be. 

Gism. Why, what means this? What 's got into the girl? 
Giul. Pure love and admiration. Such a noble I 
He tried to hug me. 

Gism. I am much oblig'd to him. 
Giul. He call'd me Angel. 

Gism. It was very kind. 
Giul. [laughing. 

Now don't, now don't be jealous, dear Madonna! 
'T was all on your account. 

Gism. I do not like 
Such gifts by proxy. 

Giul. No, our natural wants 
8* 



1V8 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



Are best serv'd by ourselves. So I refus'd 
To taste for you, Madonna. 

Gism. Giulietta ! 

This is a style 

Gild. Now do not be displeas'd ! 
I really think, Madonna, for your sake, 
I am more than over head and ears in love 

With Messer Aloise : and I promis'd 

Gism. Well, well, Giulietta, tell me thine own way. 
Since thou wilt not in mine. But prithee, child, 
Why twin'st thou that red ribbon round thy fingers? 
Ginl. It is my garter. Madam, which I dropp'd 
In coming up the stair. I would not then 
Take time to put it on. 

Gism. Well, ])ut it by. [Giul. puts tin' 
sti'ing into her hof^nm. 
Now say, what said he ? 

Gild. All that man could say. 
He had made so sure to see you! [^Gism. sighs. 

't was so long 
Since he had seen you I lie should never rest 
Till he should see you! he was so perplex'd 
He could not see you! he so long'd to hear 
Why now he could not see you ! And, in short, 
Distress'd, bewildered, full of love and pity, 

I promis'd him 

Gism. Ha! what? 

Gild. That you would see him. 
Gism. Thou art the sauciest 



ACT II. SC. 3. ITS 

Oiul. Best-disposed poor creature. 
Pardon me I dare interrupt, Madonna I 
But liad you seen him — \_Gism. sighs again. 

heard him, — as I saw, 
And heard him, you 3-ourself, in love and pity, 
Had promis'd too. 

Gism. I had not needed then, 
Had I so seen and heard him. Thou dost jest. 
Or thou art imj)udent, with thy love and pity. 
Oiid. All for your sake. Madonna. 

Gism. For mine too, 
Thou proinis'dst he should see me? 

Giul. No, for both. 
Gism. How now ! Or Messer Aloise Foscaro 
Has with my maid forgot himself and me, 
Or thou 'rt beside thyself. What has he done. 
Or said, to make thee so presumptuous ? Has 
He given thee aught? 

Giul. He offered me a ring. 
I would not take it. 

Gism. He has promis'd then 

Giul. Only a husband. 

Gism. Thou art malapert ! 
And when I am so vex'd, too ! Get thee hence. 
Giul. No, let me stay. Madonna. "Why be vex'd 
That I am merry, when I am but so 
Only because I thought to make you happy. 
And make him happy, who deserves to be? 
"\^ill you not hear me? 



180 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



Gism. Speak then, n,s thou should'st. 

Speak plainly, in i^w words. What didst thou promise? 
Oiul. jSTothing, Madonna : only that I would 

Try to persuade you to admit him here, 

To-night. 

Gism. Here, in my chamber? Didst thou dare 

To so disgrace me ? Get thee to him back. 

And say, thou hast mista'en me. Go at once ! 
Giul. O madam! do but hear me! do not be 

So wroth with my well-meaning! I will beg, 

If so it must be, on my knees for pardon, 

If I have done you wrong. But only hear me ! 

"What was there so amiss in what I said ? 

Here was the Doge's nephew so distress'd 

It would have mov'd Mark's lion, or my ipaster. 

Praying an humble girl like me to have 

Compassion on him ? 

Gism. Was he so distress'd ? 
G^^d. In sooth. Madonna, how could he be else. 

So loving you, and of so great a heart? [Gism. sighs. 

Just in the moment when he should be bless'd 

In seeing you, to be bidden not to come. 

Another man had mov'd me, so perplex'd; 

But he so noble, such a god in mien ! 
Gism. [sighing again. 

Indeed, I was most sorry. 'T was with pain 

Unto myself. But what was to be done ? 

Didst not thou, dear Giulietta, tell him all ? 

How sullen vras my father? " 



ACT II. SC. 3. 181 



Giul. All. I said, 
He was a crab, a crocodile — St. Teddy's'" 
Old crocodile on the pillar. 

Gism. Thou shouldst not 
Have us'd such phrases. 

Giul. Could I pick my words? 
I was so vex'd. And there was Messer Foscaro, 
Begging, with his sweet voice, as if he were 
An orphan whose last parent had been drown'd 
In the Canal by order of the Ten, 
That I would have some little pity on him. 
And let him in by stealth : it was so long 
Since he had heard you speak, except to say, 
Good-morrow, or Good-even. \_Gism:. turns her head 

aicay abruptly. 
O Madonna, 
It makes me weep to only tell his words ; 
As it does you, I think, to hear them told. 
Gism. [i'/i a soft and hrohen voice. 

No matter, dear Giulietta: say some more. 
Giul. I bade him to be patient, as you said, 
But as he was beside himself with grief. 
And fear of something wrong, and talk'd of care, 
And murdering sleep, and other horrid things, 
I thought to soothe him by a gentle hint. 
Perhaps you would — now don't be wroth, Madonna! 
See him awhile by night, since I should be 
Along with you the while, and you might talk 
In the balcony, in tlie open air. 



182 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



Olsm. 'T was very wrong, [faintly. 

Gild. I (lid but bint, Madonna. 
I iJromis'd nought ; I said tbat I would try. 
I will go back, and tell him not to come. 
Gism. No, be not hasty. Seem''d be much distress'd i 
Giul. iVsk your own heart, Madonna ; as be said, 
I must my own to tell me what be felt ; 
Which was quite handsome in him. For your sake, 
He said, I must persuade you, as for his. 
Gism. Did he? [sharply. 

Gild. I ask'd him how he knew you suffer'd. 
He said — so proudly ! with such passion too ! 
It really made my heart go pit-a-pat : 
" By my own feeling. If she do not long. 
And in her longing suffer, as I do ; 
If she would not give up a week of life 
For one hour's talk with me, as I would gladly, 
O a whole twelvemonth, for an hour with her; 
Then will I beg no more : she is unworthy 
Of love like mine !" 

Gism. I am not! not unworthy! 
Gitil. And so I said ; and in those very words ! 

Now, dear Madonna, do consent! How can you 
At once so feel, and not feel ? 

Gism,. Give me time. 

GiSMOXDA turning away, 

and standing pensive, her hach to the windoic and her head 

down, GiT'LiRTTA seizes the opportunity, 

and, taking the rihhon 



ACT II. SC. 3. 183 

from her hoso)7i, trips to the tclndow, 
pushes open the casement^ goes on the halconi/^ 
and is seen to fasten the ribbon to the balustrade. As site 
is about to close the casement again., 
GisMONDA turns. 
Oism. What inak'st thou out at the window, Giulietta? 
Giul. To see if Messer Foscari were there. 
Gism. And was he ? [engerhj. 
Oiul. Yes. 

Gism. Let me see too. 

Giul. Xow nay, 

[intercejiting her. 
He is no longer ; and the Ca Veniero 
Has windows too. 

Gism. Which thou hadst quite forgot. 
What led thee to suppose he would be there ? 
Giul. I promis'd I would give him sign of hope. 
Gism. And didst thou ? 

Giul. O be not severe, Madonna ! 
Hope is a blessing. 

Gism. When it leads astray ? 
Giul. But now it will not lead astray. Madonna. 
I know it will not. Shall I on my knees, 
And pray you to be just ? or shall I weep, 
And tell again his suffering ? O Madonna ! 
It is so small a thing ! 

Gism. For thee, not me. 
Giul. But shall I not be with you all the wliile ? 

And have you not been married ? What he asks, 



18-t THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



"What maiden would refuse ? I do not think 
That Monna Lisa would. 

Gism. Stop now ; no more. 
I will bethink me. Said he then, to-night ? 
Giul. At the fourth hour to-night. Think — 't is his 
words — 
Think of his torments ; think of yours ; he has 
So much to ask you ; you, so much to tell ; 
Have pity then on both. I know you will. 
Gism. [going. 

Thou know'st too much then. I will go consider. 
Giul. 'T is to resolve. Else hardly would you give 
Seven days of life for one hour's talk with him. 
Gism. Hush, hush ! Thou know'st not. 

Giul. But I know that ho 
Would give a twelvemonth for an hour with you. 
Gism. Hush ! [Exit. 

Giul. Here 's a work to meet one cavalier ! 
St. Moses I" I would meet one every night ! 
Goes to the ialcony^ and returns tcith 
the rihhon. 
Had she but seen my garter! — Never mind ! 
Why not as well a knee-band as an armlet 
To noose a Imsband ? If I catch one too, 
( And I have earn'd hira ; it has been hard work I ) 
I '11 strip the otlier off, and make the set 
A votive offering to St. Giuliet.'^ [Exit. 



ACT HI. SC. 1. 185 



Act the Third 
Scene I. TTie Garden — as in Act /., Sc. I. 

Enter on the upper side 

LrxiA and Giovanna. 

The latter comes over the hedge^ then helps 

LuTiA to follow. 

Lut. Thou 'rt sure she said her master was abroad ? 
Giov. Madonna, yes. 'T is Holy Vito's day.'^ 
He is at the church. 

Lttt. So are we wholly free. 

Enter 
IsoTTA and Cassandra. 

And here they come. Now shall we see. 

Isot. [embracing her.] See what? 
Lut. This "loveliest plot that ever was devis'd." 
Isot. And 't is. Had Baimont Tiepolo's been as fair, 
My ducal ancestor had been put down, 
And I perhaps been not put forth, to achieve 
A marital reform. 

Ltct. It is the day 
That plot was thwarted. Omen of ill luck. 



18l3 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



hot. To our lords, not us. — Now hear. To-night 

Lut. To-night ? 

Isot. At the fourth hour 

Lut. That 's midnight. 

Isot. Even so. 
— We see each other's chambers for the first. 
But not I liope the last time. 

Lilt. What means that ? 
Isot. It means, our lovers meet us tliere to-night, 
And we our husbands. Seest thou ? 

Lu t. Not a ray I 
Isot. Then might'st thou carry, for all the good they do, 

Thine eyes in a platter, like thy patron-saint. 
Cass. That, save the platter, were as well for both, 
Seeing both the gentlemen woo you in the dark. 
Isot. Now what behold'st thou ? 

Lut. Twilight, not full day. 
Isot. Thou art but half-awake ! 'T would serve thee right, 
To let thee grope, as good Anselmo will, 
When he seeks Monna Lutia in the night. 
And finds he is saddled with Isotta still. 
Now seest tliou well ? or art thou still abed ? 
Lut. I see the plan. 

Isot. And think'st of it ? 

Lut. With dread. 
'T will ruin us both. 

Isot. Thou hast the drollest head ! 
Here are Giovanna and Cassandra both. 
They know all, and take part in all. Our truth 



ACT III. SC. 1. 187 

Has their assurance. 

L^lt. "Will that stay the wrath 
Of either cavalier, when found the cheat 
"We have put upon him ? Think too of their hate 
Envenom'd by the consciousness of wrong 
Design'd against each other ! 

Isot. That I leave 
To Providence, believing in my soul 
Shame will extinguisli wrath. But for their rage 
Against our innocent selves, why let it burn ! 
A double storm of feminine reproach 
"Will blow it out, I think, and cool their brains 
For just conviction. — But I do not mean 
They soon shall find the cheat. Not till at least 
Our double game is won. Look at our make : 
"We are enough alike. Then, bred together, 
Our voices have one tone. "We shall not speak 
More than is needful. 

Lut. I shall not, I am sure. 
Grirolamo will think it very odd 
In gay Isotta. 

Isot. No, he '11 deem her coy 
Or prudent. Fearing no deceit, be sure 
Their amorous fancies will delude them both. 
But whether or not, we have ridden too far, my dear. 
Now to draw bridle : win we not the race, 
"\^''e are ruin'd beyond redemption. 

Lut. 'T is too true. 
Our lovers are grown importunate, and believe 



THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



Each that his neighbor has a shameless wife. 

Isot. So let them ; till we make them blush to own 
They are bad husbands, we the best of wives. 
And this my plan. Cassandra on my part 
Shall tell Girolamo, that my lord to-night 
Takes barque for Padua, and invite him come 
At the fourth hour. From thee Giovanna bears 

A letter to Anselmo 

Lut. Why a letter 
From me ? 

Isot. Because he wrote one unto thee. 
'T will suit his gravity better. 

Lut. Well. To say? 

Isot. Girolamo at Murano with some friends 

Will pass the entire night ; and tliat between 
The third and fourtli hour he may venture in. 

Lut. But why thus earlier ? 

Isot. Out, thou silly thing ! 
Not that I want my spouse a half hour more ; 
But to prevent the two encountering. Well : 
At the third hour, or even before, we enter 
Each other's house, here by the garden-gate. 
And by each other's maid are led straightway 
Each to the other's chamber, there inspect 
All that belongs to it, and when 't is known 

Put out the liglits, and so await 

Lut. In terror. 

Isot. Fie, timid one ! Are they not given to know 
We meet in the dark, and neither is to spe:ik ? 



ACT III. SC, 1. 189 

Lut. But will it not be best to send my letter 
By some hired m'essenger ? 

Isot. That, as thou lik'st. — 
Now haste, my Lutia. [embracing her. Then, 
laughingly .1 But restrain thy muse ; 
Be not too fond ! Anselmo might expect 
Too much of cold Isotta. 

Lut. And yet find 
More than Girolarao will in Lutia warm. 
Cass. Pardon me, ladies, if I dare suggest : 

Madonna Isotta should compose this letter. 
Isot. As knowing her husband's solemn humor best. 
Cass. No, as new proof. 

Isot. — Tlian one, two heads are better. 
'T is well. I '11 throw it o'er the hedge. Thou, sweet, 
Shall copy it and send it. 

Lut. And so fetter 
These Hushand- Lovers with a chain complete 
Of evidence. My heart not now will flutter. 
Isot. Hey then for frolic and our Double cheat! 

[Jcissing Lut., — who, with Giov., Krit over 
the hedge, while Isot. and Cass. Exeunt 
on their side. 



190 the double deceit 

Scene II. 

As in Scene III., Act II. 

Enter 
GiSMONDA and Giulietta, 

the latter hearing a lighted wax-candle and a coil 

of slender cord. She Hows out the light ; 

and GiSMo:ifDA opens the casement. 

Gism. The crescent moon gives just sufficient light. 

More would betray us. Look down into the street. 
Seest thou aught yet? 

Giul. Madonna, nothing yet. 
'T is black as pitch. 

Gism. The alley is so narrow, 
And we are up so high. It will be hard, 
I fear, to climb, [anxiousli/. 

Gild. Fear not : a lover's legs 

Hark ! I hear something. 

Gism. Speak more softly then: 
'T may be some other. 

Gild. How fearfully you tremble ! 
Courage, Madonna ! — Hark now ! There goes St. 

Mark ! 
One — two — three — four ! 
As the sound of the last stroke dies away, something light is 
thrown against the casement. 

Gism. [eagerly, hut in an under tone. 



ACT III. SC. 2. 191 



And tliere 's the signal-stone ! 
Quick, Giulietta ! 
GiSMONDA lets dojon the cord, while G-iumetta holds it. 

Gild. See you yet, Madonna ? 
Gism. Yes, though but dimly. — Now, he shakes the cord I 
Draw up. 
They j>uJl on the cord together. The head, of the ladder 
hecomes visible. They secure it to the balustrade. 
Giul. 'T is fasten'd now. 'T is quite secure. 
Gism. He pulls upon 't to try. — He 's on it now ! — 

He mounts ! — He 's half-way up ! — He 's Aloise ! 

[with deep tenderness, and stretching out 
her arms over the balustrade. 
Alo. [within — as just under the balcony. 
Gismonda ! 
Immediately, the ladder appears to be jerlced violently ; and 
there is an ill-dejined dull noise. 
Gism. God ! he has fallen ! he is dead ! 

Giul. Hush, hush!" 
Look, dear Madonna ! he moves ! he is but hurt. 
He holds both hands to his head. Your eyes now us'd 
To peer in the darkness, you may see him plain. 
He is going off! — O why so still, Madonna ? 
You frighten me. Do speak to me ! 

Gism. [who, the ichole time Giul. has been spealc- 
ing in a suppressed voice., has been lean- 
ing over the balustrade, note looking 
up, and in a tone of relief, yet low. 
Tluuik God ! 



192 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 

He is gone ! he was able to get home. Why, why- 
Gave I consent to this ! If it should kill him ! 
My God ! my God ! have pity on his youth ! 
Giul. Why fear the worst, Madonna? Was he able 

To move alone, he is not nigh to death. 
Gism. Thou knowest him not, Giulietta. 'T was in longing 
To reach, wo 's me ! my outstretch'd arms, he fell. 
I saw him — dost thou hear me ? 

[grasping Oiulietta''s arm^ and drawing closer 
to Jier^ ichile her whole Ijody seems to shrink 
together with liorror and grief. 

— clutch three times 

At the accursed ropes, ere ■^— ere, sheer down 

Giul. Oh horror! — Dear my lady, how thou tremblesti 
Gisin. Tremble, girl ! — Ere he fell, I say, sheer down, 
To the stone pavement. Would the stones have feeling 
For his green youth and manly beauty ? [gasjying.'] Thou 
Saw'st him, as I did, holding his poor head 
Press'd 'tvvixt his hands. Know'st thou what that 
was for? 
Pausing., then solemnJij and deeply. 
That his blood might not drip upon the marble 
Beneath his lady's window, and defame her. 
Had he but five minutes left of life and strength. 
He had dragg'd himself away, to die elsewhere. 
She huries her face in her hands 
and sohs — though low. 
After a lirief moment., during which Giulietta is seen, 
Ig (he dim light of the scene, to gaze on her 



ACT III. SC. 3. 193 

with looks of deep ST/mpatJuj. 
Let not his noble effort for my honor 
Be tliwarted. Draw tlie Ladder np. 

Gild. Yet hope, [begins 
, to dj'aw tJie ladder into the chaniber. 

Gism. Hope? Ay, but pray. Until tlion bring'st, to- 
morrow, 
Assurance of his safety, shall no pillow 

Receive my head, while his — while Aloise's 

Covers her face ngain^ weeping silentlij ; and 
Scene closes. 



Scene III. 

A Street. The houses o/"Axselmo ajid 

GiROi.AMo, adjoining each other. 

The portal in the basement of one of than is partially open. 

Enter .^ 

dragging liimseJf painfull y along., 

Aloise. 

Alo. I can no further. Here as well to die 
Vol. IV.— 9 



194 ■ THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



As farther otf — thy honor sav'd — Gismondu. 

[Sicoons heUoeen the two doovf. 

Enter 

A Captain- of the Slgnors of the N'ight 

icith twelve Shirr i^ and their Lieutenant: three 

of the men hearing torches. 

Capt. What have we here? — Ho, lights! 

\_They hold the torches over Aloise. 
Lieut. The Procurator 
Marco Foscari's son ! 

Ca2)t. The Doge's nephew ! 

Lieut. Bleeding 
And — dead, I think. 

Ca2)t. "Who can have done this deed? 
Go, three of you, and bear him to the Church. 

[j)ointing off the scene. 

Two of the Shirri talce tip Aloise, and., 

another leading with a torch. 

Exeunt. 

Whose houses are tliese, Lieutenant? 

Lieut. The Messeri 
Bembo and Barhadico's. Neither door — 
See, Captain, there! [pushing one hack, and 02)ening 
the other.] is fasten'd. 

Cajjt. Tliat is strange! 



ACT III. SC. 3. 195 



And Messer Foscaro bleeding on the ground ! — 
Divide yourselves. "Watch two of you this side, 
Two upon that, [indicating/ the doors. 
Two others go around 
To the back wall. And thou, patrol the street. — 
Let nothing out or in. — Arrest thou [to the patrol. 

any one 
Found lurking. — If ye [to the front icatch. 

hear him sound for help, 
One frona each side go to him. — Take one torch, 
Lieutenant, and search that house. I, with the other, 
Will enter this. Quick, fellows, to your posts ! 

The watch disj^erse as distributed. 

As the Captain, followed liy one of the torcliljearerf., 

enters one of the doors, and the Lieutenant, similarly 

attended, the other, the 

Scene closes. 



196 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



Scene IV. 

The Garden — As in Act /., Sc. /., tfic. 

The Stage is nearly (larh. 

Enter 

on the upper side of the hedge^ Isotta, — 

on the loicer, Lutia ; 

loth hnrriedly. 

hot. [suppressed tone, hut eagerly. 
Lutia, is 't thou ? 

Lut. Isotta, yes. 

Isot. Make-liaste. 
Give me thy hand. Here. Over. 

[They cross the hedge, changing ])laces. 
Lut. What 's the matter? 
"What noise was that in the house ? 

Isot. The Devil perliaps. 
Did it also come to thine — to mine, that is? 
Lut. Tramp, tramp, on the stair. The door was sud- 
denly open'd. 
An arm, I think Cassandra's, drew me out. 
I saw the light of torches, as I fled. 
Flash through the court. I think we are beset. 
Isot. And so do I. Our husbands will be cauijht. 



ACT III. SC. 4. 197 



What will they say, when found each in the chamber 
Of his sworn foe ? 

Lut. And knowing it, as they will ! 
'T will drive them mad. 

Isot. I cannot help but laugh. 
Lilt. I had rather cry. But now is time for neither. 
See! Lights in both houses! [looking to the right. 

Isot. [turning to left.] And footsteps in the rear ! 
Good night, good night. The Devil, if devil it be, 
May catch thy husband, but he sha'n't catch me. 

[Exeunt hurriedly 
at llicir rcsj^ective sides of the hedge. 

The Droj) falls. 



198 THE DOUBLE I>ECEIT 



AoT TTiE ForRTn 

Scene I. A Cell in the Prisons. 

A sound of holts and chains withdraicn. 
The vaulted door is flung open^ and., the Jailer standing hi/ it., 

Enter 

Anselmo and Giholamo 

led l>y the Captain and the Lietttenant of tlie Watch, 

and followed hy six of the Shirri, 

two of them xoith torches. 

Ansel. [haugJitilij. 

Now we are where thou 'dst have us, it may be 
Thou 'It answer us at last, why are wc here. 

Girol. Come, Captain, this is surely some mistal^e. 
That gentleman, I will vouch, is, as he told tliee, 
Messer Anselmo Barbadico ; he 
Will say for me, that I am nothing less 
Nor worse than I have claimed to be. Come, come ; 
"We are no night-thieves. 

Capt. I might, Messeri botli. 
Reply, by simply asking you in turn, 
Why you, who, all the world of Venice knows. 
Are enemies, are found each one by night 
In the chamber of the other, and confus'd — 



ACT IV. SC. 1. 19G 

I will not say, in terror, — nor could give 
Any account of yourselves why you were there? 
This might suffice for Messer Barbadico, 
Who I see winces at it. 

Ansel. Hold thy peace ; 
And know thy place. 

Capt. [still gravely .} I know it well enough, 
And what the law allows your rank. 

Ansel. Then, peace! 
"Why we were found where thou hast said, concerns 
Ourselves alone. Ourselves alone will answer it. 
Each to the other, \loolcing signijicnntly at Glrol. 
What is that to thee ? 
Capt. [turning to Girol. without further notice of Anselmo. 
But since you have better feeling, Messer Bembo, 
And know the difference 'twixt a dog and me, [said 
with tJie same imperturhable gravity. 
I will answer yoi<, why I have brought you here. 
The Doge's nephew, Aloise Foscaro, 
This night was found bath'd in his blood and dead, 
On the foundation just before your doors. 

Both start — Anselmo less percepjtihly. 

You both betray surprise. It may be real. 
It may be feign'd. That will appear elsewhere. 
Seeing both your doors were open, I had right 
To think, perchance involv'd in some amour. 
Young Foscaro met his deathwound at the hands 
Of some one in your houses. AVhat we found 



200 THB DOUBLE DECEIT 



Oa entei'ing, I will not offend again, 
Messer Girolamo, by repeating here. 

Girol. But sir, I do protest 

Capt. I must be pardon'd, 
If I refuse your Excellence to hold 
Further discourse. My duty here is done. 
Ansel. And thou shalt answer for it. 

Capt. And I will, 
I go now to the Signor of the Niglit 
To make report. Until the Quarantia 
Otherwise order, I shall leave you both 
Together and without a special guard. — 

[bowing gravely. 
To the riglit about ; in file ; and forward, march ! 

The Shirr I dejile from the cell., 
one of the torches leading ; and during this movement 

Scene shifts to 



ACT IV. SC. 2. 201 

Scene II. 

The Interior of a Church. 

Aloise lying on a bier he/ore the Chancel. 

A small torch at the head^ and another at the foot of the Her, 

give the only light to the scene. 

The Chaplain 

is seen in the act of closing one of the church-doors. 

He comes forward. 

Chapl. Now they are gone, I'll get me to my bed — 
'T will yet be warm — and mend my broken sleep. 
Giesu ! 't is not a trifle to be rous'd 
Out of one's dreams at midnight, dreaming too, 
Mary forgive us ! one of Jerom's dreams, 
To enter a cold church. Ugh ! Why not let 
The dead inter their dead? as Christ's self said. 
Midnight ? Those torches haply will not burn 
Till morning. Should the relatives come in, 

And find them out ! 

TaTces two larger torches which are standing 

by one of the pillars^ and substitutes them. As he is lighting 

the one at the head by the one 

he has thence removed : 

Now, Messer Aloise, 

I know not if thou wilt see better now 

9* 



202 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



Giesu Maria! St. Tantiii ! \<lro2'>ping tlie small linh 
in terror.'] Did he move ? [loolcliig on 

the face. 
Oh horror ! and all saints ! his eyelids open ! 
Runs off toward the cloor^i then stoics, and, coming 
slowly 'bacTc. 
This is child's terror : if he be alive, 
Better for him perhaps, and well for rae. 
If he be dead, I have seen dead men before. 
And bloody ones. {Lays his hand on Aloise^s chest. 
God's holy Cross ! he lives ! 

[Exit hastily. 
While he is gone, Aloise gives certain feeble signs of coming to. 

After a few moments, 

Enter 

the Chaplain, 
with another Pkiest and a Lay-brother. 

Alo. [without raising his head, and feebly. 

Gismonda ! {Again lapses into insensibility. 

Chapl. There ! I thought I heard him speak. 
Priest. 'T was but thy fancy, brother; and I wish 

Thou hadst kept it to thyself: my bed was ready. 
Chapl. But here is what will quite"' thee, were it warm. 
As mine was. Beats his heart, or not ? 

Priest. It beats ! 
Let us be quick. Giuseppe, [to Lay-brother. 
raise the feet. — 



ACT IV, SC. 3. 203 

He has swoon'd from loss of blood. 

Ghapl. Or pain. So. 

[carrying him off. 
Bear hiin 
Unto my cell. I am glad my bed is warm. 

[Exeunt with Aloise. 



Scene III. 

The Prison — As in Scene I. of the Act. 

The scene is lighted iy a lantern on an oahen table. 

Anselmo. Girolamo. 

GiROLAMO is seated o?i a iench near the table, hiching his 
heels together^ and looTcing up noio and then with an air 
of drollery at Anselmo, lo/io, with folded arms and head 
depressed., paces gloomily., at moments fiercely, the cell. 

Ansel, [suddenly stopping, and., after looTcing fixedly for a 
moment or two on Girolamo. 
Messer Girolamo Berabo 



I 



204 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



Girol. [carelessly.] Well? 

Ansel. Our sires 
"Were as our grandsires, and their sires far back, 

Great enemies. I am thinking that they were 

[pauses. 
Girol. Great fools, perhaps. 

Ansel. Even so. And since you think 

"What were you doing, Messere, in my chamber ? 
Girol. What were you doing in mine ? It is all one. 
Ansel. My lady is a Hum! [clenching his hand fierce- 
ly., and resuming his walJc. 
Girol. And so is mine, [hiching 
his heels together — hut not carelessly ; then spring- 
ing passionately up and coming forward. 
Ansel. You seem to take it easily. 

Girol. Take the devil ! 
How can I help it? Any more tlian this, 
That we are thrust together in one cell, 
"Who hate each other? Shall we fight it out? 
"We have no arms. But there are solid walls, 
And here our hands : Your head or mine. "What say 
you? 
Ansel. Either you trifle, or you yet not know 
Why I now speak who never once before 
Open'd my lips to you, and never thought 
I ever should. How look you on our fate ? 
Girol. As a most damu'd one, take it at the best. 
Ansel. And take it at the worst, as we must do, 
'T is this. To-morrow all of Venice knows 



ACT IV. SC. 3. 205 

"We both are Need I breathe the accursed name? 

Glrol. No, 't is not very amiable.''^ "What then ? 
How can I help it ? 

Ansel. But wliat malces it worse, 
All Venice knows we are enemies ; and, so knowing, 
"What will it think of what must seem in each 
Covert design to wound the other's honor ? 
AVe shall become the laughingstock — 

Girol. [beginning to show uneasiness.'] And scorn — 
Ansel. The detestation, and the mere contempt 
Of every Pantaloon.-' 

Girol. [someichat passionateli/. 
Ay. But again 
I say. How can I help it ? 
S^e hegins to stride across the stage in the -inanner Anselmo 
had first done. 
Anselmo ioatches him a moment in 
the dim ligJit, standing with folded arms. Then., 
slowly., arid with deftli of tone. 

Ansel. Help it? Thus. 
We are taken up suspected of the murder 
Of Aloise Foscaro. Let us own it. 
Girol. [stopiiing short. 

Art thou in earnest ? 

Ansel. Earnest ? Am I one 
"Was ever known to utter words in jest ? 
Girol. No, by St. Jerom ! Monna Lutia took 

Your sober earnest seriously to heart. 
Ansel. That is an ill-tim'd pleasantry, Mesaere. 



206 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



Girol. It cost me dear then. It was devilisli bitter, 

Like John's book, in my belly."* Thou may'st cap it 
With one on me and Isotta, if thou like. 
Ansel, [with clenched hand, and stamping the floor. 
Damn her ! 

Girol. A.J.I damn them both, loose jades! 

Ansel. Amen ! 
From the bottom of my soul ! But were they damn'd 
Effectually by our wish, that saves us not 
From the deep hell of infamy wherein 
Their known incontinence plunges, for all time, 
The body of our honor : for all time ! 
A moral stench and fire to which the gulf 
Of Dante's horridest Circle were mild Eden. 
Think'st thou not so ? 

Girol. [icith viuch feeling. '[ 

Peace! name it not,Anselmo. 
Ansel, [at first shrinking. 

Anselmo ? — [brie/ hesitation. 

But 't is well. For thou art hearty ; 
And I believe our grandsires were great fools. 
Girolamo Bembo, — 't is thy enemy speaks, 
Thy enemy that was, but who will be 
Truly thy friend a few brief hours of life. 
If so thou wilt, — thou wouldst not live to bear 
The slur of obloquy, the pitying shrug. 
The mocking smile, the whisper and the joke: 
" That 's he ! Lucretia-Lutia's merry keepei*." 
"Messer Girolamo, how 's thy enemy's rib?" 



ACT lY. SC. 3. 207 

Oirol. [who has hceii patting the- floor loith liisfoot^ Ids lips 
sternly compressed. 

Anselmo Barbadico 

Ansel. [2nirposeli/ disregarding him. 

Wouldst not beat" 

To know thou own'dst a wife who 

more quicMy.] Wouhlst thou bear 
To be so damn'd, and daily ? 

Girol. Would I live 
To lose the all for which life 's worth the living ; 
Decent opinion and a happy heart ? 
Better a thousand deaths ! 

Ansel. It is but one. 
I '11 share it with thee. Touch my hand. 

Girol. \_at first shrinhing as Ansel, had done — 
then.1 with great franlcncss and putting 
his whole hand into Anselmo''s. 
I will. 
This morning I had clasp'd the Devil's as soon. 
Ansel. We meant to wrong each other, and, so meaning. 
Did wrong each other. Let us now each other 
Eight, and that nobly. One thing is resolv'd : 
Young Foscari died by our joint hands, detected 
In infamous commerce with our strumpet wives. 
The how and when, and wherefore we were found — 
Where we were found, — that must we now revolve ; 
That not the horrors of the Question force 
One word from our parch'd throats, to give the lie 
To each other's story. 



208 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



Girol. Let them wrench our limbs : 
Our heart's pang lias a bloodier sweat. — But hark : 
Is 't right to blacken Foscaro, that ourselves 
May be made whiter ? 

Ansel. AVherefore not ? He sleeps : 
He will not hear it ; and he fell, no doubt, 
By some avenger's hand ; while our damn'd wives 
Get but their due. 

Girol. Ay, damn them ! Venice too, 
That breeds such vermin ! 

Ansel. Rather damn ourselves. 
Who fancied each his footing solid ground. 
While grinning at his neighbor's floor of glass."* 

They walk tq) to the tahle, and Girolamo a2)2>6ars to arrange 

the lantern on it so that they may sit on either 

side ; and Scene closes. 



ACT IV. SO. 4. 209 

Scene IV. 

The Sleeping- Cliamber of the Chaplain. 

A'Loia^ lying hach in an easy chair ; ^ico Surgeons on either 

side him^ one holding his wrist. His head is bandaged. 

He is deadly pale, and his eyes are closed. 

M. DoMENico Maeipetro, Signor of the Night. — 
The Chaplain. — Hisfelloio Priest. — The LAY-BRoxnEP.. 

All hut the liAY-BROTIIER 

come forward, leaving Aloise a little in the iackgro^ind. 

1st Sur. You now may question him, Messer Maripetro. 

2d Sur. [who had held Aloise's wrist. 

So it be gently, and at no great length. 

Marip. I understand you truly then, Messeri, 

These wounds are come of accident, — from a fall, 
Not from premeditated violence ? 

1st Sur. No. 
Even without the bruises and abrasions 
"Which mark the patient's body and his palms, 
We should not deem him wounded by assault. — 

2d Sur. Although it is not impossible. 

1st Sur. Although — 
As thinks my learned brother — presupposing 
Certain conditions of weapon and attack, 
It yet might be. But doubt is put at rest. 



210 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



By the distingnish'd patient's own avowal. 

\trirning to the Chaj-)!. 
CJicqA. 'T is so. His Excellence has avow'd he fell 

From a balcony of the Casa Mora. 
Marip. Seem'd he to have his senses when he spoke? 
CTiapl. It might be ; and again, it might be not. 

'T was waking from his swoon. The avowal made, 
He gave a cry of pain and swoon'd again. 
list Sur. With pardon of his Eeverence be it said, 
The cry was more of terror or despair, 
As though in the flutter of returning sense 
He had iitter'd what was perilous to reveal."" 
Chapl. 'Tis very likely : I am growing old. 
Messer Aloise! — [going iip to Alo. 

Marip. Hush ! — \goes np also. Tlie rest 

folloic. 

Messere, [to Alo. — Aloise 

opens his eyes., and again closes them. 

You fell, you have said, from Messer Moro's window. 

Alo. [leaning foricard. 

I did. — O fatal slip! [to himself . — He strilzes 
his hands together., and falls liacl'. and groans. 
1st Sur. [to Marip.] There! Said I riglit?" 
Marip. [waving his hand to impose silence. 

Know you me, Messer Aloise Foscari ? 
I am one of the Signori of the Night, 
Domenico Maripetro. Two young nobles 
Were seiz'd on mere suspicion of your murder, 
And are detain'd to answer for the attempt. 



ACT IV. PC. 4. 211 

Will you absolve tliem? Whence had you these wouuds? 
Aloise turns uneasily in the cTiair. 
A pause. 
What took you to the Casa Mora windows, 
Since it must be you were in secret there? 
Another 2')''J'Use. 
Alo. \_heavily sighing. 

Let not the innocent suffer. I must die, 
And will not keep this secret on my breast 
Which is lialf utter'd. Ser Giovanni Moro, 
Whose wealth is known, keeps constantly in his house 
Large sums of money, and has lioarded jewels 
Of vast amount, whose storing-place I knew. 
A fause. The attendants.^ (&c., 
gaze on him with intense interest. He Tceeps his eyes 
still closed. 
Observing that the windows in the rear, 
Wliich light the corridors, were night and day 
In the warm season open, I resolv'd 
This night to scale them. 

Again a pause — • the company 

gazing on him with an expression of increasing interest^ ichich 

noiD p)artalces of alarm and even horror. 

At the fourth hour then, 
With a mask'd lantern arm'd and certain keys 
Whose master wards would open every lock, 
I threw a rope-ladder to the mid balcony 
Of the mid floor, where stood a casement open. 
And mounted. [He p>auscs. 



212 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



Chajil. O ye saints, aud Sau Fantino! 

horror, and Jesus-Mary ! And a noble ! 

The other Pkiest and the Lay-brothek 

cross themselves. The Surgeons exchange loolcs 

of dismay^ 1st Surgeon''s mingled icitJi an agression 

of doubt. Maripetro l-cc2}S his ey^s on Aloise, giving m 

other sign of emotion than the knitting of his brows. 

He waves, hoiceter, his hand again, to impose 

silence on the Chaplain'. 

Alo. The claws were not well grappled to the rails : 
My weight drew down the ladder ; and I fell. 
Wounded and bleeding, half- wild with fear and shame, 

1 had the strength to sink in the Canal 

My implements, and staggering sought my home. 
But overcome Avith pain and loss of blood, 
I soon lay down to die. I know no more. 
Chapl. The Doge's nephew robbing! Holy Cross! 

Maripetro, gazing a moment fixedly on 

Aloise (who keeps always his eyes shut), turns round and 

looks upon the bystanders. • 1st Surgeon betrays 

strong incredulity. 

Marip. 'T is a strange story, Messer Aloise ; 

And be it not disprov'd 't will cost you dear. 
Robbery has of late been fearful-rife. 
And the strong hand of law must put it down. 
Your uncle will not shield you. 

Alo. Let him not. 



ACT IV. SC. i. 213 

I can but die, and shall perhaps even here. 
Chapl. The Lord vouchsafe your Excellence better thoughts! 
As tills is said, 1st Surgeon draws 
Maripetro forinard. 
\st Siir. I think his senses wander. 

Marip. Yet the tale 
Was congruous and coherent. And his wounds? 
\st Sur. I have never doubted canie from some such fall. 
I doubt his motives. 

Marip. These the law will search. 

[Retzirnittg to Alo. 
My painful duty,- Messer Aloise, 
Must be discharg'd. — 

Alo. Discharge it. I complain not. 
Marip. Your father sent for will be shortly here. 
Meantime I leave you with a single guard, 
Who shall await without, {going. 

Alo. Receive my thanks. 

Enter, Marco Foscjari. 

Marip. The Procurator is already come. 
Alo. Father! {painfully. 

Fosc. My son ! How is it with thee now ? 
Alo. Poorly in mind and body. I have made [faintly. 
Confession of my guilt. 

Fosc. Thy guilt ! He raves ! 
Speak, Maripetro! 

Marip. 'T is indeed too true. 
Your Excellency's son admits to liave fallen 



21-i THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



In an attempt — I am sorry so to speak — 
To rob the Oasa Mora. 

Fosc. He is mad ! {gazing anxiovsly 
on Alo. who Tcecfs Ms eyes closed. 
\st Sur. For the moment — partially. He should have rest. 
Bewilderment of the cerebral functions 
Has follow'd the concussion, as did syncope 
The blood's congestion. 

Fosc. [^motioning to the comi^any to go. 
Give me leave, good friends. 
Thou dost not fear to leave me, Maripetro, 
Alone with Aloise ? 

Makipetro lows^ 
and Exit icit/i the others hy a door. 
Aloise ! 
Art in thy senses? 

Alo. Never more so, father. 
Fosc. What hast thou done then? Whence and how this 
fall? 
What took thee to Giovanni Moro's house ? 
Alo. Attempting to ascend a high balcony ; 

With what intention, spare me to repeat. 
Fosc. Degenerate boy ! Art thou so lost to shame? 
Open thine eyes, and look me in the face. 
Thou cast'st them down! Is 't guilt? This is some 

cheat ! 
The tenor of thy past life shows it so. 
Thou liast Ijeen noble, generous, from a child, 
Oblivious of thyself for otliers' good, 



ACT IV. SC. 4. 215 

Incapable of avarice : tliou art Foscaro. 
The tears are gushing from thy clos'd eyes fast ! 
My own begin to trickle. O my son ! 
What is thy trouble ? Fear not ! Come ; confess. 
Thou didst not fall ; thou wast hurl'd down perhaps 
From some high window, caught in some amour. 
Make me thy friend : I will not judge thee harslily. 
Alo. [much moved 

My father ! 

FosG. [caressingly. 

Yes, yes; that is it. 

Alo. [desiyairingli/. 
I'fo, no! 
It is in vain. Let justice have its course. 
Ask me no more. 

Fosc. Let justice have its course? 
Art thou a villain then? And wilt thou hang? 
Alo. No, I shall die before the cord be ready. 
Fosc. But, dying so, thou wilt not save our shame. 
Thou art the Doge's nephew, and my son. 
Thou art no villain. Either thou art mad. 
With thy wounds' fever, or there lies here hid 
Some mystery, perhaps of love-intrigue. 
Which I shall know to fathom. Rest in peace. 
I go to the Ducal Palace straight. 

[^Exit hy the door. 
Alo. Gismonda! 
I have stripp'd my honor bare, to cover thine. 

\ Swoons. 



216 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



Enter, from the door, 

Maeipeteo, Chaplain, and Surgeons. 

The Priest and Lay-brothee 

hehind. 

Chapl. [as he crosses the sill. 

O horror! and St. Job! he is gone again! 
'ist Sur. It has been too much for him. 

2d Sur. As T foresaw. 
The Surgeons aiul Chaplain hastily, Maeitetro 
slowly, move towards Aloise. The ■ 
Priest and LAr-BROTnEE ^^rcss 

through the door. 
And during this movement the 

Dro]} falls. 



ACT Y. SC. 1. 217 



A o T THE Fifth 

Scene I. In the Ducal Palace. The JJull of the 
Council of Ten. 

LOREDANO, MOCENIGO 

and others of the Council assemhled. 
The Doge ^9rcsiV?/?jv7. 

Doge. Illustrious Signers ! Now the aft'iiirs of state 
Which call'd you hither are over, ere we part 
Give me your sufferance. If we call your hearing 
From the deep thunder of the Milan war 
To meaner trouble and scarce audible sound 
"Whose near reverberations startle rarely 
The far-removed sphere of your high functions, 
It is not idly. In the affair we indicate 
There is a mystery, and a double plot 
Darkly inwoven, and so close-perplex'd. 
As needs to unravel it your graver judgment 
And your supreme authority to resolve, — 
The honor of three noble houses being 
Therein involv'd. Vouchsafe us then your patience. 
Have we your high permission to proceed. 
The Council exchange looTcs of inquiry .^ then 
gravely nod assent. 
'T is known in Venice, Aloiso Foscaro, 
Vol. IV.- 10 



218 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



Many weeks since, was taken up for dead 

Between the open portals of two houses ; 

Girolamo Bembo's being one, the other 

Anselmo Barbadico's. Search being made, 

These nobles — foes, observe ! were found in the dark 

Each in the other's house, at dead of night. 

Charg'd with the seeming murder, each apart 

Avow'd for himself, seeing Aloise pass 

At certain hours often by their doors. 

And knowing their wives were faithless, they had lain 

That night in wait for him, unknown to each other, 

And, rusliing out together, between them slain him. 

Hearing then the tramp and seeing from afar 

The torches of the night-guard, scar'd, bewilder'd, 

Having chang'd their places in the assault, they fled 

Each through the other's portal unawares, — 

Their houses being similar. That the wounded 

Died not, makes not their story false. But lo 1 

Being question'd, Aloise avers he fell 

From a balcony of the Casa Mora, 

Attempting — who will credit such a tale ? 

To rob the house ! 

Loredano. "Why not ? What 's in a Foscaro, 
Should save him from the crimes of vulgar men ? 

Doge. Nothing: but much to keep him from tlieir mean- 
ness. 

Lore,!. What's that? the Ducal Bonnet ? 

Doge. 'So ; but that 
Which we might say a Loredano wants 



ACT V. SC. 1. 219 

Since the brave Admiral, Pietro of that name, 
Stoops to offend the feelings of an uncle 
To gratify the malice of his hate. 

Mocenigo. [hastily. 

"What said they to this strange avowal ? 

Doge, [hawing to Mocen. and then around the Council. 

Pardon : 
The trodden worm will turn ; I cannot kiss 
My enemy's heel. — They affirm'd it was delusion ; 
Delirium from the fever of his wounds. — 
By order of the Criminal Quarantia, 
Search being made in the Canal from Moro's 
To Barbadico's house, was nothing found, 
Though Aloise said therein he threw 
A ladder, keys, and lantern. He avers 
Still to have fallen ; still the two maintain 
Their story of assault. 

Mocen. With what design ? 

Doge. To find in death a refuge from dishonor. 
Disgusted with their wives, and sick of life. 
Made friends by common suffering, they plann'd, 
Id their deep passion and shame, what now for shame 
They scruple to retract. 

Mocen. And Aloise? 

Doge. Doubtless did fall ; but from what house and how, 
Lies yet in darkness. 

Lored. Give them to the rack. 
All three will render up their secrets straight. 
Their folly or guilt needs not this high tribunal 



220 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



To sift or punish it. 

Doge. 'T is because the rack 
Threatens now needlessly their youthful liinl)S, 
We crave in their behalf the CounciFs favor — . 
To US, not them. Our Procurator brother 
Has found a clue to Aloise's part, 
In certain feeble hints Giovanni Moi'o, 
Close-question'd, gave him. Grant us ample power 
To search this matter, we pledge our faith to make it 
Clear as noon-day, the issue leaving wholly 
To your high verdict. \1ie speaks still to the rest of the 
Council., without regarding Loredano. 
Lored. As is simply fit. 
The Doge would seek immunity for his nephew 
And brother's son. 

Doge. The Doge before the Ten 
Knows not his brother nor his brother's son. 
Francesco Foscari is servant of the State. 
When was he ever known to scant his duty ? 
When to refuse a sacrifice of self? 
Not only his nephew, does the law demand him, 
But his own children ; he surrenders all ; 
Even dead will ye have it so. 

Lored. [muttered.] It yet may lie."" 
Moceti. I see no power that may not well be granted 
Unto his Highness in this strange affair. 
Why should the noble Admiral refuse 
To do his enemy justice ? 

Lored. I refuse not. 



ACT V. SC. 2, 221 

Is it the pleasure of the rest, 't is mine. 
Mocen. Is it agreed then ? {Joolting round ^tpon the Council. 
All the members nod affirmatively except 
Lored.., who remaiixs motionless. 
It is granted, [to t' e Doge. 
Doge, [bowing acknowledgment.] Thanks. — 
Associates, the Council stands adjourn'd. 
CofNciL, rising, prepare to separate as 

Scene closes. 



Scene II. 
A room in the house of Anselmo. 

ISOTTA. LUTIA. 

Lut. Is there to be no end to this suspense ? 
Isot. Why soon, I think. Now Aloise Foscari 

Is well enough to stand before a court, 

The trial must come on. 

Lut. And then ? 



222 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



hot. Why then, 
"What but our lords' release ? Has Foscaro been 
Too noble to avow the rightful source 
Of his disaster — which I think was hardly 
Our friend Gismonda's jewels, — will he seek 
For safety in our husbands' wild invention ? 
Its falsehood obvious, they are free. 

Lut. To vent 
The vengeance of their prisonment on us. 
Isot. We soon will turn the tables on them. What ! 
Did they not bring it on themselves? 'T is little 
Indeed atonement for their sins ! And we ? 
Have we gone scathless ? Not the humblest soul 
Of all our husbands' lineage, scarce a friend 
Or relative of our own, to touch our hands - 
Or hold communion with us ! Both set down, 
In a vile city, as the vilest vile ! 

Enter.^ 

Cassandra, j^'^'^'^i-pitately., 

with looTcs of dismay. 

What now ? What is it, girl ? 

Cass. O God! Madonna! 
Isot. Why dost thou wring thy hands ? What hast thou 
heard ? 
What seen ? 

Cass. Seen nothing — not as yet. But see 
The town will soon. — O dear ! O dear ! my master ! 



ACT V. SC. 2. 223 

Isot. What of liiia ? Speak ! 

Lilt. And of my lord ? 

Cass. They are both 
Condemn'd to lose their heads between the pillars. — 
Isot. [jocosely^ and sustaining Lxitia, who appears dumb 
with horror. 
Don't faint, iny Lutia ! 

Cass, \loolcing on Isotta icith surprise. 

Really though, Madonna! 

Isot. I do not doubt it. They 're to lose their heads ; 

And? 

Cass. Messer Aloise to be hung. 
Ixot. Ha. ha, ha ! 

Cass. But it is true. 

Lut. Isotta! 

Isot. Now, don't give way ! Here comes Giovanna too. 

Enter, 
with lilie diiscomposxire.^ 

GlOVANNA. 

"We will hear her first. Well! didst thou see them die? 
Oiov. \i.n extremity of surprise. 
Madama ! 

Lut. Mind her not, Giovanna ! Speak ! 
What is this horrid story? 

Giov. 'T is too true. 
I had it from the porter. And I came 
Straightway to tell you. And I found the men 



224 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



Tn the court below were talking of it too. 
Ixot. [mahing a gestxire to restrain Ltttia, tcJio loohs wihlhj 
from Giov. to Imt. 
Talking of what ? — Now, Lutia, do be still ! 
Giov. 'T is talk'd all over Venice — so they say. 
Madonna Lutia's, and your lord, Madonna, 
Will be beheaded in the Piazzetta, 
And the Duke's nephew hung. 

Isot. Right wisely done ! 
Hail Francis Foscaro, tlie new Solomon ! 
Lilt. God keep us sane ! This horror drives her wild ! 
Lsot. No, joy. — Thou hast heard how Solomon the Jew, 
To find the mother, where two claim'd a child, 
Order'd the little bantling cut in two. 
So Solomon the Venetian, to discover 
The entangled secret of our Doiible Deceit., 
Proposes to behead each Ilushand- Lover, 
And hang his nephew in the public street. 
Nay, never stare ! 'T is so, and wisely done. 
TTail Francis Foscaro, the new Solomon ! 
Lilt. Do leave thy rhymes, Isotta; and disclose 
Tliy meaning plainly. 

Lsot. Plainly, in i)lain prose : 
Come with me to Gismonda. 

Lut. With what view ? 
Ilop'st thou she would admit us noio ? 

Lsot. I do. 
Cassandra shall prepare the way. 

L^ut. Her sire 



ACT V. SC. 2. 225 

"Will shut the door in our faces. 

Isot. He sha'n't see them. 
We will go mask'd. Now, not a word, mj dear ! 
'T is time for action now, not speech. Go bid 
Tlie gondola he prepar'd, Cassandra. 

Lut. No. 
'T is but a step. We had better walk. 

Isot. Tlie barge 
Will screen us better while wo wait without. 

{Exit Cass. 
Come to my closet. I have masks for both. 

They move towards a dooi'. 
I hardly think, my dear, the Doge will care 
To chop two heads off 'twixt the two stone pillars, 
Because they wish'd to choose 'twixt two down 
pillows. 
Lut. No; A^enice would have nought bat bodies then. 
Isot. Save a few heads — of children and old men. 
Lvt. O monstrous libel ! Would no women keep 
Their heads then on their shoulders ? 

Isot. Some — asleep. 
Lnt. What then do we awake in this Lot's town ? 
Isot. O, we are friends, and spare each other's down. 

{Opens the door., and in the act 
Scene changes. 
10* 



220 ^ THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



SOEXE III. 

In the lioiise of Giovanni MoTO, 
As in Act II., Sc. Ill 

MOEO. GiSMOXDA. 

Mora. I will have nought to do with it, I say. 

Thou hast disobey'd me ; and, by thy connivance, 
Young Foscari would have forc'd his way by night 
Into my house — I do believe, Gisinonda, 
From thy own nobleness, not to thy dishonor — 
GiSMONDA. raises his hand 
to her lips. Moro draws it atcay with 
affected roughness. 
Now, none of tliat ! unless it be in token 
Of penitence for the past. I say, Gismonda. 
If Aloise did not enter here, 
It was by his misfortune, not thy fault; 
And though thou 'scap'st the forfeit, he shall not ; 
Not by my movement. 

Gism. And his self-denial ? 
Father, thou call 'dst it noble. Canst thou wish 
To punish him through the very merit which won 
But now thy favor ? 

Moro. I punish not. I own, 
The youth is brave, is noble, is magnanimous, 



ACT V. SC. 3. 227 

I3 worthy of his name : but is 't my fault 

He lost his balance? I would have pitch'tl him down, 

Had I been near him. Let liim pay the cost 

Of his mad passions, as all men must do 

Sometime or other. 

Gism. It is done, my father. 
Frightful atonement! He has barely 'scap'd 
Alas! with life. 

Mora. So let his broken bones 
Teach him a lesson. I will not intercede 
With his stern uncle. I have done enough. 
Avowing to his father that he knew thee. 
Hang him or not, I wash my hands of all. 

Gism. Yet, for my sake, for mine ! dear father, pity ! 

Moro. Thou art a fool — or feign'st to be. Thou knowest, 
As well as I do, Foscari will not hang. 
He has risk'd his neck to save thy honor ; and thou, 
I doubt it not, wilt risk thy honor in turn 
To save his neck. But if thou do, remember, 
I have no part in it ! And What is this ? 

Enter Giulietta., 

Oiul. May it please Madonna, a girl witliout craves leave 
Of speech with her. 

Moro. Admit her : I have done. 

[Exit Giul. 
Now bear in mind, Gismonda ! I '11 not stir 
A hand to save hira, let him hang or not. 

\_Exit Moro — in opposite direction. 



228 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



Re-enter Giulietta wWi Cassandra. 

GisMONDA, on seeing the latter^ turns indignantly on 
Giulietta. 

Oass. Madonna, pardon me : you have no cause 

To look displeas'd. I have indeed been sent 

Oism. [gravely. 

What does thy mistress want with me, Cassandra ? 
Cass. It is a matter that concerns you both. 
GiSMONDA draws herself xip., 
hut with more displeasure than disdain. 
Xay, you do wrong her, Madam. On my word, 
She is innocent, and as virtuous as yourself. 
Gism. Girl! — Come, [to Giul., and moving off. 
Cass. Do hear me! Do be just! 

Giul. Do hear I 
Appearances, Madonna, may deceive. 
Ca^s. [significantly. 

Madonna Mora's self might be misjudged. 
Gism. Ah! say'stthou? "Well; be brief. 

Cass. Then briefly, tlnis : 
My master and Madonna Bembo's lord 
Made love to each other's spouse. The ladies told 
Immediately each the other, and contriv'd 
To assume each other's place. 

Gism. Ah! truly? 

Cass. Madam, 
I and Madonna Lutia's maid, Giovannn, 
Were cognizant of all and ]iel])'d in all. 



ACT V. SC. 3. 229 

Gism. Could I believe thee ! 

Cass. That needs not. My lady 
Brings her own proof. 

Gism. What mean'st thou ? 

Cass. They are come. 
She and Madonna Lutia, to concert 
Measures with you to rescue all the three, 
Their husbands and the nephew of the Doge. 
Will you not see them ? 

Giul. [Gismonda liesitating. 

See them, dear my lady : 
The Devil is not so black as he is drawn. 
Cass. They are no devils at all. 

Glul. That 's true ; being come 
Upon an errand of mercy. 

Gism. Thou distract'st me : 
Peace ! — [^-1 pause. Considering. 
To Cass.] I will see theiu. — 

Go thou with Cassnndm. 
[Bxit Giul. and Cass. 
Gismonda walks thoughtfully to and fro 
a few moments. 
'T is veiy true. Myself might be misjudg'd. 
I have but Giulietta to maintain 
My plea of honor. Why should I distrust 
Isotta, still more Lutia? If the world 
Traduce them for their husbands' fault, may 't not, 
When I relate for Aloise's sake 
My story of the rendezvous, believe 



230 THE norBLE deceit 



Me too impure ? Tlie trial will come hard. 
But thou didst venture all, thou gallant spirit ! 
Why should not I ? Alheit the risk for me 
Is more than death. 

Enter 

IsoTTA and Lutia, 

wearing inaslcs^ which they immediately remove, 

Cassandra, Giulietta, and Giovanna. 

Tliese three retire to the hachgroynd^ and, during the colloquy 

hetioeen their mistresses, Giulietta, in dumb-shoio, 

appears hy her gesticulations {p)ci'^i^''>'0 ^^ 

the window, &c.) to he recounting 

the misfortune o/Aloise. 

Isot. Salute us not, Gismonda. 
Spare us a welcome that must needs be cold. 
Lut. And yet it should not. Why shouldst thou accept. 

Who knowest us, all a lying world puts forth ? 
Gism. Your husbands did, \^Gism. speaJcs, though gravely 
and loith sufficient firmness, yet with diffidence. 
Isot. Our husbands were deceiv'd. 
Has not Cassandra told thee ? 

Gism. [same manner.'] But in brief. 
'T was a strange tale. She said thou hadst the proofs. 
Isot. Wliich we shall lay before the Duke himself. 
Thou she - St. Thomas ! thou shalt put thy fingers 
Upon the very marks. 

Lut. dear Gismonda! 
What better proof than that our coming brings? 



ACT V. SG. S. 231 

Were we so guilty, wouldst thou see us here ? 
Look in our faces. 

hot. It is aptly urg'd. 
But I may claim to add: What, did we say 

Young Foscaro 

Gism. No, no! do not say it! no! 
Forgive me! We will not distrust each other; not 
On the world's showing only. [Gives a hand to each. 

hot. Now then, hear 
Why we are come. What think'st thou means the 

Doge? 
It were preposterous, tyranny unmatch'd. 
To put to death, even on their own confession, 
Two men of standing, for a night-assault, 
When the pretended victim swears himself 
'T was never made. The Doge then would discover. 
Why this self-accusation ; why two foes 
Were found at midnight each in the other's chamber ; 
Why his own nephew, hitherto unstain'd, 
Takes on himself a ci'ime not less degrading 
Than heinous. In a word, the Doge, my dear, 
Would bring us out, sagaciously divining 
We three could solve this mystery if we would. 
The Doge must have his will. 

Gism. But how, Isotta ? 
hot. We must appeal to him — appear before him, 
If he desire. There is no other way. 
Especially for thee. But tell us frankly : 
Thou art the jewel young Foscari came to rob ? 



232 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



Fie I never blush ; the world must know it soon. 
Gism. My father had forbidden him the house. 
hot. Ah? — But the why concerns not us. — Thy sire 

Knows then of all, and knowing can explain. 
Gism. Rut that he will not do : he swears it roundly. 

His stubborn humor — if I must call it so — 

Thou knowest. 

Ltd. But hast thou not some friend, Gismonda, 

"Will speak for thee, and us? our cause being one. 

For this we are come. For we are stripp'd of friend;* 

By our misfortune. 

Isot. Nor will stoop to plead 

Through any advocate for that mere justice 

That should be meted us on our own asking, 

And the bare statement of the naked facts. 
Gism. So it becomes you best. — [^Considering.]! Vnow 
of one. 

There is Stef'ano Moceni'go, of the Ten. 
Isot. Who better? 'T is the Doge's single friend 

In a malignant and opposing Council. 

Let us prepare a letter to the Prince, 

Requesting in the names of all the three 

An instant hearing. This, dispatch'd forthwith. 

The Minister will bear him. Let us haste. 

The College sits to-day : there is bare time 

To find the Doge alone. 

Lut. And not an hour, 

For the tliree prisoners' sake and for our own, 

To throw away: tlie town is in a ferment. 



ACT V. SO. 3. 233 

Glsm. Come to my oratory then ; for here 

My father might break in and interrupt us. 
Isot. And catcli -without our masks us, wicked pair, 
And wonder how the devil we got here. 
GisMONDA leads them to the door of a cabinet^ 
which opening^ she shows them in. 
Caxs. Be not concern'd, fair hadies : if 't will do, 
r and Giovanna here will mask for you. 

{^Exit Lutia. 
Isot. [looliing Ijaeh. 

Thou 'dst better it, thou jade ! — Here wait ye two 
Our coming back. And keep your faces bare. 

l^Exit^ followed Jiy 
Gismonda, who, in character, has loolced 
rather surprised ; and door closes. 
Giul. — For Master's eyes. 

To Cass.'] Charm'd with that modest air, 
lie '11 think it better pastime here to sue, 
Than join the ladies yonder at their prayer. 

Gix;lietta and Cassandra ^j«i on the maslcs 

and hegin to caricature the airs of fine ladies to the 

am,usemen t of Giovanna ; and 

Scene closes. 



234 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 

Scene IV. 

The Piazztstta. 

The name concourse as in Act /., Sc. II. ; hut the groups are 

earnestly conversing and gesticulating^ and a Icnot 

of people stands in apparent expectation 

atout the portal of the Palace. 

In the foreground, an Olt> "Woman coming down the stage, 
and a Gondolier going up from the left. 

Enter, 

from the right, Isotta and Lctia, 

attended T)y Cassandra and Giovanna. 

Old Worn, [observing them. 

Hoot, the bold hussies! 
Oondol. [facing aiout at the cry. 

Give them a wide berth; 
They 've got men's blood on them. 

Old Worn. Or soon will have. 
Isof. [firmly, yet in an under tone. 

Fear them not, Lutia ; we shall soon be through. — 
Keep close to us, girls. 

Enter 
the two Surgeons. 

Ist Svr. [to Gondol.] "What is this all about? 
Qondol. [crying out to Isot., &c. 

Ta'ke care of the columns l'^^ Ye have brought already 



ACT V. SC. 4. 235 

Two gallant men betwixt them, ye foul jades! 
2(Z Sur. [to 1st Sur. 

'T is the two -wives of the condemn'd young nobles, 
Bembo and Barbadico. One I know. 
Gondol. [wJio has turned about to the Surgeons^ after the 
above obloquy. 
Then you 've a bad acquaintance. 

Old Wo7n. [hobbling after Isot., 
&e., and gesticulating.] Stone the jades! 
Gondol. [icho has given attention to this cry^ note half- 
turning again to the Surgeons. 
I wish I had them bound upon a plank 
Well-charg'd with stones, between two gondolas! 
Would n't the boats part quickly!^" 

Old Worn, [still jntr suing. 
Stone the jades! 
[And the crowd in the baclcground 
tahe np tJie cry : " Stone them ! " 
The ladies are seen to cower. 
Gondol. [running uj). 

I '11 see the muss. 

1st Sur. [seriously to 2d Sur. 

They are in great danger. 

Enter a body of Sbieei 
with Captaix. 

Cajjt. Halt! — 
Back, ye mad fools ! Disperse, ye hags ! — Left wheel! 
Forward! 



236 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



The Archers march up thestage^ and^ the mob 

sullenly retiring, the ladies, &c.^ continue on their 

way to the Ducal Palace, which presently {in the course of 

the Scene) they enter. 

1st Sur. \_in tone of relief. 

In time! 

Gondol. The Devil take the Sbirri ! 
They 're always in the way, those fellows ! — Who 's 
this? 

Enter from the left 

GisMONDA and Giovanni Moro 

and GiULiETTA. 

They pass slowly up the stage towards the Palace (which they 

enter before the close of the Scene.) 

Directly after them, also from the left, 

the Chaplain. 

Chapl. \to Gondol. 

Hush, my brave Barcarole ! that 's Messer Moro. 
And the young lady, ray brave Barcarole, 
Is Messer Moro's daughter, Monna Mora. 
They are going before the Doge. — 

Gondol. O yes, I know, 
To inform against his brigand, cut-throat nephew. 
She 's a brave lady ! He 's a villain ! 

1st Sur. What for ? 
Gondol. What for, my citizen? If seven big murderf 
For a young fellow, like Aloise Foscaro, 
Be not enouffh to make a villain! 



ACT V. BC. -i. 237 

Chapl. Seven I 

horror! and St. Moses ! Why, ray son, 
He ne'er committed one ! 

Gondol. So much thou knowect, 
Good Father! I say, seven. 

Old Worn. Nay, 't was eight 1 
Did n't he stick Madonna Mora's maid? 
Gondol. St, Peter! no! I '11 tell ye about that. 
He got up by a ladder with a torch, — 
Meaning to fire the house, to rob it safely. 
But, by good luck, Madonna Mora's maid. — 

That 's she behind her — a right buxom lass I 

Old Worn. She walks like a crab. 

Gondol. Thou 'rt crabb'd thyself, old wench : 
A soft crab ! 

Old Worn. Ami! thou salt-water hog! 

1 '11 let thee feel my claws ! 

Gondol. Keep off, old mermaid ! 
I '11 put my oar to thy flippers, an' thou don't. — 
Well, by good luck, Messeri, as I said. 
The maid lay with a toothache wide-awake, 
And, seeing the light, awoke her sleeping lady. 
They stole to the balcony. Then the maid 
Dashing the blazing pine in 's face, the lady 
Tripp'd-up the ladder. Wa'n't it bravely done ? 
And so we shall see this Princes-nephew hung. 
Come on, old crab! Three cheers for Monna Mora! 

Goes np the stage, 
Old Woman holMing after him threateningly. 



238 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



1st Sur. And, Down with the Prince's nephew! if lie durst. 
Chapl. Giesu ! was ever ! — But I 'ra growing old ! 

Seven murders ! 

1st Sti7'. "Nay, 't was eight." For, " didn't he stick 

Madonna Mora's maid?" 

2d Sur. With lighted torch. 
ChapL Ah! popular rumor! popular rumor, sons ! 
1st Sur. Is a soft-shell crab, of our Gondolier's description. 

It climbs too high sometimes our mansion-walls: 

Then ebbs the tide, and the oozy crawler 's left 

Out of his element. — For the Palace, Father? 
Chapl. Ay, gentle son. Perhaps I may be needed 

Before the College, in Foscari's behalf. 

I heard him mutter some things much like love 

And Monna Mora's name in his fever once. 

But I am growing old now. 

1st Sur. So are we. 
2d Sur. And bound for the Palace too, with similar views. 
Chapl. Come then, my sons. St. Fantin, and all saints ! 

'T were a great shame, to hang a Doge's nephew. 
1st Sur. Slight fear of that, good Chaplain. 'T is a sham : 

A plummet let down in the well of Truth. 
Chapl. Think'st thou ? 'T is likely. But I 'm getting old. 

St. Christopher ! they must not hang him yet. 

If we can help it. Come away, fair sons. 

TTiey more up tlie stage, ami 
Scene closes. 



ACT V. SO. 5. 239 

Scene V., and the last. 

/;;- the Ducal Palace. The Hall of the College. 

On the right^i in his roles of state, and crowned with the 
Ducal Corno, the Doge 07i his throne between his Six 
CoTJiirsELOES of the College, — having before him Lore- 
DANO, MooENiGO, and others of the Council of Tex. 
In the haclcgroxind, the Criminal Qtjaranti'a, and others 
of the College. In front of them, standing, the Avvo- 
GADOEE MoROsiNi. — In the centre of the stage, someichat 
baclc, stands Aloise, with two Sbieei behind him leaning 
on their pikes, Maeco Foscaeo on his right hand, and 
Maeipetro, a little behind him, on his left. — More for- 
ward, and somewhat to the left of Aloise, Bembo and 
Barbadico, tcith four Sbirri and the Captain of the 
Night. Near the left wing, far down in the foregroimd, 
the Chaplain and the two Surgeons {who enter however 
during the Doge's speech ). 

Doge. By your advice, most learn'd and noble Counselors, 
The other members of this potent College 
Giving consent — our brothers of the Ten 
Therein conjoin'd, by whose illustrious sanction 
This strange affair ( which from its private nature, 
Affecting individuals not the State, 
Concerns a portion rather of your body, 
The Criminal Forty, than the exalted whole)" 



240 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



Was given to us to manage at our will 

For tlie great ends of justice and the good 

Of tlie aggriev'd concern'd, — by your joint order 

And liberal sufferance, shall we now proceod 

To loose the tangles of this intricate plot, 

For whose unravelment all Venice waits 

Impatiently. The jirisoners stand before you. 

Two parties, who profess to hold the key 

To unlock this mystery, attend witliout. 

Is it your pleasure they be summoned in 

And questioned ? 

The DoGK loolcs around tlie ai'semhly, 

tchich gravely hoioing, 

he motions with hi^ hand, and 

Enter 

IsoTTA and Lxitia, attended ly Cassandra and Giotaxna ; 

then, after a irie/ interval, Gismonda, 

leaning on Moeo's arm, andfolloiced hy Giri.iEXTA. 

As IsoTTA 2}(isses "before Axselmo, she throws at him a side- 
long looh of malicious pleasure, which Anselmo returns 
with one of concentrated indignation. Girolamo glances 
with a half-imj^atient half-careless looJc at Lutia, wJw 
however Tceeps down her head. He then exchanges hols 
with Anselmo, who clenches 2y«'Ssionately his hand. — 
without however lifting it. 

Ye, who answer for the Ser 
Ansehiio Barbudico and the Scr 



ACT V. SC. 5. l!41 

Girolamo Bembo, stand befor our throne. 

The other dame be seated. 

GiSMONDA, after mutely endeavoring to per- 
suade MoRO to remain iy her {pressing his hand 
in hoth of hers, &c.), talces a seat which is offered, 
first exchanging a timid and anxious loolcAoith- 
Aloise, ^oho appears deeply moned. Giulietta 
stands up hehind her chair. Moeo has retired 
close to the left loing of the scene, l)efore Gis- 
MONDA sits, and stands near the Ciiai^lain and 

SUEGEONS. 

Now, fair ladies, 
Why challenge ye our hearing ? And what plea 
Put forward, that the sentence of our will 
And the Ten's mandate should not be enforc'd? 
Isot. Illustrious Prince ! And ye, exalted Signers! 
'T were hard, even in a presence less august, 
To speak of matters, which to merely intimate 
Throws doubt upon our virtue: but the safety 
Of our lovxl husbands, and our own dear honor, 
Therewith involv'd, allow of no reserve. 

I know not by what influence, certaiuly not 
Through her enticement, who was ever grave 
And decorous in her carriage, my staid lord 
Made love to Monna Lutia, while to me 
Her gayer mate paid, almost at one time, 
A similar compliment. How this should chance 
I cannot say. Perhaps being learn'd, they had read, 
Like pairs with like, and birds will flock together 
Vol. IV.— 11 



242 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



"Who find a semblance in each other's feather. 
Tlte assevibly smile^ while Anselmo 
( on whom Isotta glances maliciously) and Gieolamo mvttcr 
together and exchange looks of rage and shame. 

Lutia and I from childhood have been friends. 
Having had one foster-motlier. From tlie love 
"We bore our husbands — how reciprocated, 
Your Highness has just heard, — we never pass'd, 
After our marriage, through each other's door, 
Contented o'er a hedge, which parts in two 
The garden of our homes, from time to thne 
To liold communion. Thus it was, one day, 
We told each other of our Christian lords, 
Wlio, hating one another unto death. 
Kept all their charity for each other's wives : 
Again the glance hij Isotta ; and again Anselmo and 
GiKOLAMO appear excited. 
And who had grown so curious to explore 
Their neighbor's dwelling, that they could not wait 
Till Time should open them the common gate. 
But sought to creep in by a private door. 

This time Axselmo and Girolamo — 
especially the latter — are so far mccstered hy 
their 2)assion, that the Captain of the Guard is ohliged 
to restrain them. Mocenigo, observing the com- 
motion.1 exchanges glances with the Coun- 
cil., and then looTcs up to the Doge, 
inho thereupon. 
Doge. The prisoners will have patience till their hour 



ACT V. SC. 5. 243 

To give response. Else bear tliera to their cell.-*. — 
Proceed, fair lady ; nor restrain your wit. 
Isot. To know them better, and to make them know 
Us better, and to punish each her spouse, 
We plotted to encourage them, and made 
Appointments, feigning nnto each our lords 
Were gone from home; and ere the appointed hour 
Each by assistance of the other's maid 
Stole to the other's chamber, there awhile 
Study VI, and for a purpose, all it held. 
Then waited, in the dark as was agreed, 
Our husband-lovers. These had been prepar'd, 
For reasons obvious, not to hear us speak. 
• Our ears however open, while we listen 
Each to the worship paid her rival friend, 
Sudden there is a tramp upon the stair, 
The door is open'd, the attending maid 
Warns us of danger, and, still in the dark. 
We flee through the garden and regain our homes. 
Here stand our maids, the witnesses of all, 
And aidant in the X)lot from first to last. — 
What follows need T tell ? The Husband-Lovers. 
Detected ignomini(nisly, assum'd 
The guilt of a murder which they knew not yet 
Had never been committed and had never 
Been even attempted, eager to escape 
Contempt and laughter in the unconscious grave. 

Thus ends our story. If I have been lone, 
Weighing on solemn hours, already heavy 



244 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



With burdens of the State, I pray my Prince 
And all your Excellencies, for my sex'3 weakness. 
To escape your censure. 

Doge. Nay, receive our praise. 
Lady, you have well spoken. What have ye, 
Messeri, to respond. 

Ansel. But briefly this : 
The story is collusion. 

Isot. And our maids? 
Ansel. Are purchas'd. 

Iwt. Whence this ring? — Illustrious Prince, 
I took it from liis finger, in the chamber. 
Ansel. 'T was Lutia took it ; and thou hadst it thence. 
Isot. Here is the copy of the note thou hadst. 
I wrote it first for Lutia. 

Oirol. 'T is a copy 
Perhaps taken after. 

Isot. Say'st thou, Messer Bembo? 
My maid will find the woman, an' thou list. 
Who took from her the copy, which she bore 
From Lutia to Anselmo. 

Ansel. That is nought. 
Who cannot buy such women, when thy maid 
Herself is purchas'd ? 

Doge. Messer Barbadico, 
Ourself can urge thee. Seest thou nothing, then, 
In the dark chamber and the silent lips ? 
Ansel. Pardon, my liege, — I see no proof therein 
Of more than simjjle shyness, or, be 't said 



ACT Y. SC. 5. 245 

With greater aptness, merely simple shame. 

Gh'ol. [who has been ahsorhed in thought — sudden!//. 
But I, magnanimous Prince, begging pardon too 
Of all that hear me, plead now for our wives, 
Advancing this strong proof. When she I thought 
Was Monna Isotta heard me call her thus. 
She drew her hand away, and fell to weeping. 
Even then, before I well could think, the alarm 
Was given, and the dame escaped. But now, 
I know 't was Lutia ; and I ask forgiveness. 

Doffe. She is weeping now ; but not, I think, from grief. — 
And thou, Anselroo, hast thou nought to say ? 
A pause, Anselmo a2)pearing to consider. 

Cliajil. \low to Surgeons. 

St. Zachary ! is he dumb before the Duke ! 
Wait till I 'm asked : I will not hold my tongue. 

Ansel. A light breaks on me too; and I avow, 

With penitence, great Duke, we both have sinn'd \ 
Sinn'd in false censure, as in bad intent. 
I do remember now, tliat I was shock'd, 
When fancied Lutia slily laugh'd to hear 
My whisper'd vows. Isotta so had done. 

Isot. Yea verily, and did. And is that all 

Thy memory owns ? Thou hast forgot to speak 
Of one thing more. How when I fled away, 
I lent thee with my fingers on thy cheek 
A compliment which Lntia would not pay. 

Ansel. I own the debt, and that 't was well incurr'd. 

Doge. These noble ladies' honor is now purg'd 



240 THE DOUBLJi DECEIT 



Before all Venice. But not jet absolv'd 

Stand tlieir two lords. Eise up, Madonna Mora, 

And -what thou knowest deliver unreserved. 

ChsMONixv rises xoith an effort^ seems to 

stmggle with herself^ then sits down again — or rather 

sinTcs into the chair. 

0Jw2)l. \_in under tone to 1st Stir. 

St. Lazarus! poor thing, how scar'd she is! 
I should be too. But I am getting old. 
Doge. Be not dishearten'd, noble and gentle lady ! 
Giul. [loiv to Gism. 

For Messer Aloise's sake. Madonna, 
He would have died for you. 

GiSMONDA, rising instantly., casts one looh 

oil Aloise, then seeming to gather courage., speaks., 

with a voice which gradually strengthens in its tone of modest 

firmness., hut zcith eyes cast doicn. 

Gism. It is most true : 
He would have died for me. — Illustrious Prince, 
Were it my honor, as it is but pride 
And womanly shame that are involv'd, — for him, 
Who vcntur'd life and honor both for me. 
Should I not oifer it? [Lifts her eyes with an expres- 
sion of deep gratitude to Alo., then casts them 
doicii again. Brief 2nmse. 
Aloise Foscari 
Lov'd me — and woo'd me. But his sire had chosen 
Another partner for him. For this cause. 



ACT V. 8C. 5. 247 

And being of kindred to tlie Loredani, 

My sire forbade me to receive his visits, 

Under the certain pain of being shut out 

From his heart aUke and home. What could I do ? 

That very day, Aloise was to come. — 

Intercepted by my maid, not knowing why 

My father had forbid him, in despair 

He urg'd me through the girl to give him liearing 

In secret and by night. As 't was to bo 

In a balcony, and my maid beside. 

The eloquence of his passionate distress, 

Repeated by the girl, o'crcame all fear, 

And womanly shame, and prudence, and, oh me! 

All filial reverence. — At midnight then, 

A cord let down drew up to the balcony 

A ladder, which we fasten'd to the rail. — 

Young Foscaro ascended. [Her voice hreahs. 

In his haste 
To reach — to reach my outstretch'd arms —he fell. 
Overcome. Brief pause. 

Ghapl. [loio. 

Oh horror ! and all saints ! he was no robber. 
Tlie Duke won't need my evidence after all ! 
Gism. {recovering — and with energy. 

My lord, he is the noblest of all men ! 
Lest found beneath the window he should stain 
Her honor whom he lovM, he dragg'd away 
His body, all broken and bleeding, from the door. 
To die elsewhere. 



248 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



Pause of Irlef agiiation — looMng 
tenderly and gratefully on Aloise. Tlie 
assembly^ with exception o/Loredaxo, ecijice deeji interest^ 
and turn tlieir eyes on Aloise, who casts 
doion his own. 
We saw him, by the moonlight, 
Holding his head between his uprais'd hands. 
For fear his innocent blood should spot the scones 
And be for evidence. — Here is my maid, 
Who witness'd all. The ladder is at home, — ■ 
To be produc'd, if this be not enough. 

Tlie Doge hends toward the Counsei.oes and the Ten-. 
They appear to nod assent. 

Doge. It is enough. The prisoner is free. 

But did it rest with us, thou noble Gismonda, 
He should be bound again with other chains — 
Thy heart his prison. 

Morosini. Eests it then with me ? 
My daughter Lisa shall not marry now, 
My lord, your nephew. He has clomb too liigii. 
And fallen too low. 

FosG. So be it. — Aloise, [with tender 

reproach. 
Oouldst thou not trust me? — Take him, gentle Indy r 
The gallant boy hast won thee like a hero ; 
And thou, redeeming him, has shown the prize 
Was worth the conquest. 



ACT V. SC. 5. 249 

Gism. [Alo. aliout to taJLeherJiand — 
looTcing round to Moro. 

But iny father 

Moro. [approaching. 1 iSTay, 
I have said, I have no other thought than honor 
For Aloise Foscaro ; and since 
His Procurator ^ire and Ducal uncle 
Sanction the union, I might give my blessing ; 

But [stops.1 looTcing full on Loredano. 

Lored. What 's 't to me ? I stand not in thy way. 
Marry tliy daughter, man, to whom thou wilt, 
Or let her marry herself in thy despite ; 
That makes me not fourth cousin to the Foscari. 
Moro. But it may make thee less of kin to me. 

Come hither, children. I have stepp'd between you, 

Partly in honor, partly in that, a fool, 

I set more by old friendships than new loves. 

[Glancing at Loredano. 
I have taught me better now. God bless you both ! 
Foscaro may be, as thou didst say, Gismonda, 
One day the prop of my declining years. 
He puts their hands together. Gismonda 
raises his to her lips. 
Tush, tush ! keep all such dainties for thy spouse : 
He has better earn'd them. 

While this tahes p)lace^ the Husband-Lovers 
a7ul their loives have embraced. Isott &.Jirst extends her hand 
to AxsELMO, which he lifts very gravely to kiss ; 
11* 



250 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



hrit she <lrawH it away^ Imighing lightly^ unci 
falls on his necl\ 

Doge. All thus eiideth well. 
And you, Messeri, [to Ansel, and Girol. 
we are joy'd to find 
Are no more foes. I would your noble example 
Might influence others [glancing at Loredano. 
to consider friendship 
More blest tlian enmity. 

Lored. [disdainfully.'] For whom it suits. 
Isot. [loic to Ansel., <fv-. 

I thought it did for every one but brutes. 
Doge. Friends, Colleagues, I would thank you one and all. 
To your kind sufferance wholly is it owing 
This matter is well ended. It is said, 
A shrewd mechanic, somewhere in the North, 
Has just devis'd a singular mode to copy 
All written labor : so that at one time 
A many hundred transcripts may be taken, 
In clean fair characters, of a single book. — 

A |)(xwse; for the assembly exchange 

looks of 2)lea8ed surprise., or appear to speah hriefy togethe 

of the matter ; during which 

Chapl. [apart to Stir. 

Griesu-Maria ! it is the Devil's invention ! 
T.st Sur. [maliciously . 

Tliey '11 stamp tlie Bible. 

Chapl. And render all men wise I 



ACT V. SC. 5. 251 

Ist Su)'. The biggest pippin from the tree of knowledge 

Since Adam. 

Chajil. Had it from the sire of lies. 
\st Sur. No, from the mother, — as I Ve heard it told. 
dhajyl. 'T is very likely. But I 'm getting old. 
Doge. Nothing shall now be lost to future time. 

This curious story, with its double plot 

And startling mystery, should thus go down 

To entertain posterity like us. 
Fosc. Perhaps it may. And in some far-olf time 

Some bard may put the adventures into verse, 

And make a playhouse happy with the scene. 
Doge. Then let me tack a moral to the tale. 

To Isot. (incl Lut.] Deceits are always dangerous, nor 
good ends 

Can ever justify unworthy means. 

To Aloise.] To tell untruth to shield a woman's fame 

May well be generous, as to venture life 

Is at all times heroic ; but 't is never 

''^Either just or virtuous, and is rarely wise. 

The lips may close at will ; but, when they open. 

See that they open only for the truth. 
Chapl. St. Paul ! Our Doge is quite a sage, 't is clear ! 
Isot. [to Lut.] I told you he was Solomon, my dear. 
Doge. The College is adjourn'd. 

The ■irliole assemhly rise., and soon after them the Doge, 
and remain standing. 

The main characters. icho hare already grouped 



252 THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



torjether^ along icith the Chaplain, &c., come noio to the 
extreme front of the scene. 

Moro. And we, — to meet 
Together at my house, [iotoing, though with his rough 
and ungenial inanner, to the group. 
Qirol. To gossip over 
The short-liv'd madness of each Husband-Lovek. 
Isot. And happy issue of the Double Deceit. 
Oism. Come with us, Chaplain : you, Messeri, too. \to Stir. 
Fosc. [to Chapl. 

To-morrow thou slialt have some work to do. 
Chapl. St. Fantin ! 't is to make one hand of two. 
Fosc. 'T will make at least two happy hearts I pray. 
Isot. And so a wedding meetly ends our play.'' 

The Characters draw iacTc^ and the 
Curtain begins to fall. 

Oiul. [advancing., and putting up her hand, as if to stop it. 
Pardon ; there should be two. I claim to see 
The brave young spouse your Excellence promis'd me. 

[to Aloise. 
Cass, [advancing to Qirol. 

And I, your Excellence, my triple fee. 
Oirol. It shall be paid, with interest. 

Alo. And some day 
My debt to thee, Giulietta. 

Oiul. Be it now, 
'T is time I kept to Giuliet my vow. 
Her chaplet fades : 't is long since first I wore 



ACT V. SC. 5. 253 

The separate parts. 

Cha2)l. St, Jude! What can that be? 
Giul. A something, Father, which you ne'er before 
I think have seen, and something — to be bold — 
Yon never, in its parts, I think will see. 
Chapl. {thoughtfully. 

'T is very likely, child ; I 'm getting old. 
Glsm. Peace, Giulietta: thou art much too free. 
Mora. And let the curtain fall ; our drama 's o'er.'* 

Curtain falls. 



NOTES 



THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



1. — p. 139. The Double Deceit, &c.] The story is founded 
on the XVth Novel of Bandello. 

2. — P. 140. Aloise.] I very much fear that this name would 
be of but three syllables with an Italian, not merely because oi is 
one of Buommattei's Tuscan diphthongs, but because the Latin form 
is Ahysius, in which the vowels would hardly be separated. In 
my incertitude, I must beg the favor of the reader to let the diph- 
thong, if it be such in this proper name, remain divided and thus 
softened {i sounded as e) into two pure vowel sounds, and ascribe 
the diaeresis to a poetic license which is not unusual in other 
instances with even the Italians themselves. — In fact, it is litila 
more than anglicizing the name, as is done with Bianca (in '"Bianca 
Capello "), which in Italian enunciation would have but two dis- 
tinct syllables, but with English writers is everywhere of three.* 



* I take this occasion to observe that jierhaps an equal liberty has been 
taken with Luiia, where tlie accent is laid on the first svHable, althoutrh it is 



256 NOTES TO 

3. — P. 155. — Cassy !] Or, "Cassal" which is more in costume, 
though not so much in character in the part, in Enghsh. 

4. — P. 163. ^Drina — ] Contraction of Cassandrina {i as e), the 
diminutive of familiarity or affection. For the Stage, as more dis- 
tinctly intelhgible, "Wanton", or, as above, " Cassa", or "Candra," 
both of which are in costume and of the time, in the same way as 
is Monna, contracted from Madonna. 

5. — P. 164. I have not, etc.] Or, "I have not repented that I 
then gave way " ( — "that I gave thee way"); or, "I have not 
repented to have given thee way." 

6.— P. 166. —to me?] —"to thee?" if preferred. 

1.—T. 1G6. As hfty, etc.] Omit, for the Stage. 

8. — P. 166. Were it, etc.] Otherwise: 



Or: 



'Were it the Duke's own son, I might relent, 
But being his brother Marco's, I will not." 



" Were it the Doge's son, I might relent. 
But being the Procurator's, I will not." 



9. — P. 166. Thy bed is yet a ividow's. Make thy choice. So he 
he not, etc.] Otherwise : 

" Thy bed is yet a widow's. Take thy choice. 
Out of a thousand noble youths, not many 
Would slight Gismonda Mora or her dower."' 



apparently but another form for Zueia, which, notwithstanding Its Latin deri- 
vation, compels in Italian the stress of the voice to (all on i. That it is a 
matter of choice will be evident, from the fact that An'na, Ber'ta, Ghet'ta 
(contr. of Arrighetta, Henrietta), Le'lia, Liv'ia, Pau'la, and some others, 
would any of them suit the rhythm .ind the ver.se. 



THE DOUBLE DECEIT 251 



And in the text, for the last line, may be redd (but the variation is 
trivial): "Giovanni Moro will not say thee nay," or "John Moro 
will not say his daughter nay." 

10. — P. 1G7. If Procurator, etc.] Otherwise: 

" If Aloise, Marco's son, comes in, 
Gismonda, Niccolo's widow, shall go out." 

Or, the three lines may read simply : 

'• Do as beseems thee. But of this rest sure ; 
If Aloise enter, thou goest out." 

11. — P. 168. GiuUetta!] The name is properly of three sylla- 
bles. The reader will please allow tlie diteresis occasionally, to 
favor the verse, (although it is really an oversight). In the present 
instance, might be redd: " What ho, Giulietta." But that were too 
masculine for Gismonda. — See, in Note 2, the remark on Bianca. 

12. — P. 171. The ivomen's rooms are in the hinder part, Divided 
from the men's-l See ScAMOzzi. Uldea delV Arcliitett. Univ. P. I. 
L. III. c. 6. p. 24.3. (Fenelinfol. 1615.) Established in Venice, 
where or in whose environs his chief works were executed, the 
famous architect took pleasure in comparing, in his elaborate work, 
this domestic arrangement with that of the ancient Greeks. 

13. — P. 173. — balconies — ] Throughout the piece, I have, 
against my will, adopted for the word balcony the accentuation of 
"Walker ; which is that used by Byron, and by the older poets. I 
have done this, because I do not know but that it still obtains in 
England, and therefore is the received accentuation of the Stage. 
Yet in this country, I have never heard it (except from the lips of 
a South-American Spaniard) pronounced otherwise than balcony, 
which is the pronunciation that must eventually prevail, even on 



253 NOTES TO 

the Stage, because halco'^iy is contrary to the genius of our language 
and therefore difficult of enunciation "when in connection Avitli 
purely English words. — January 23, 1856. 

14. — P. 1*73. — Cd — ] Familiar Venetian contraction for Casa, 
indicating the mansion or palace of families of distinction. Casa 
Yeniero is merely the mansion of the Venieri family, which for the 
sake of costume, that is of better localizing the scene and adding to 
"ts semblance of verity, is feigned to be in the immediate neighbor- 
iiood of the "Casa Mora." Ca Ziani — Cd Priuli — Cd Micheli are 
all varieties of reading in the MS. 

15. — P. 173. — ivhen St. Mark tolls four — ] The reader will 
allow me to remind him here of the peculiarity in the notation of 
Italian time, which is counted, for the twenty-four hours, from 
sunset to sunset. "About the fourth. 'T will then be midnight," 
as above, places of course the scene iu midsummer, like the men- 
tion of San Vito's day in the beginning of the next Act. 

16.— P. ISl. St. Teddy's— ] Or, "St. Theodore's." The pillar 
is one of the famous two (See scene-description, Act. I., Sc. 2) which 
have the ominous Intercolonnio alluded to in Act P', Sc. 4; where 
See Note 29. 

1*7. — P. 184. St. Moseff] The Venetians canonize Moses, Job, 
and other sanctities of the Old Testament, and have churches 
erected to them, while the theatres in the neighborhood take their 
names from the churches ; so that there is, or was, a Theatre of St. 
Moses, of St. Samuel, etc., as well as of St. Luke. See ■Wright's 
Observations in Travelling, &c., 2d ed. (Lond. 1764, in 4to.) pp. 61, 84. 

18. — P. 184. ni strip the other off, etc.] Otherwise, to avoid 
the double accentuation in "St. Giu'liet" ", which is but a metrical 
license (though only roo common a one in English): 



THE DOUBLE DECEIT 259 



" I '11 strip its fellow off, and make the pair 
A ohaplet for my patron-saint to wear." 

And above : 

" Never mind ; 

As well a leg-band as another kind, 

To noose [snare — ensnare] a husband." 

19. — P. 185. — 'T is Holy Vito's day.] "When a solemn pro- 
cession, which included the Doge himself, was always made to the 
Church of the Saint, in acknowledgment of the defeat of Bajamonte 
Tiepolo's conspiracy, which occurred on that day [June 15, 1310), 
or on the previous night. See Marix Saxuto. Vit. Due. Venet. ap. 
MuRATOR. i?er. Ital. Script. XXII. {Medial. 1733, in fol.) col. 585, 6. — 
It was on the occasion of this conspiracy that the formidable 
Council o/ </(e Tfeji was instituted. t6. 586. — The anniversary was 
still observed in Edw. Wright's day (four hundred years after- 
ward). 065. &c., as above, p. 58. 

20. — P. 191. Gismonda! Gism. God! he has fallen ! he is 
dead! Giul. Eush, hush!] This verse is not redundant. The a 
of "Gismonda", being unaccented, slides easily into the succeeding 
unemphatic 0, without combining with it, a not ungraceful and a 
convenient usage frequent enough in English poetry, especially 
with Milton; and "has'" and "is" are slurred, as is common at all 
times with these auxiliaries where not emphasized. 

Gismon' [ da O God' | he has fall'n | he is dead' | hush, hush 

The variation does not arise from necessity. Besides the alterations 
that obviously might be made in the verse itself, the whole passage 
as originally written stood thus: 

Gi-im. lie pulls upon it to try. — He is on it now 1 

He mounts ! — He is half way up ! — O God ! he has fallen I 

[with anguish, yet in a suppressed tove. 
She retreats frmn the uindow. 
He is dead ! 



260 NOTES TO 



Giul. Hush, hush, Madonna ! 't may not be. 

[BecJcons her to the balcony, or.er which 
Giulietta is looking. 
Look ! ho is moving ; he is not hurt. He holds 
Both hands to his head. Look ; now your eyes are us'd, etc 

21. — P. 202. — quite — ] I take pleasure in repeating here this 
word (or form of a word), which I would gladly revive. (See, on 
p. 135, Note 1.) If it be objected to, it is easj for the Stage to 
substitute " pay," or, for that matter, " quit." 

22. — P. 205. No, 't is not very amiable. — ] Or, " No, 't is more 
strong than amiable." Or, again, " No, 't is more pertinent than 
nice." The choice is with the Stage. 

23. — P. 205. Of every Pantaloon.'] That is, Venetian gentleman. 
The origin of the word, whence our Pantaloon (Webster, with his 
absurdly-mongrel conjectural derivation, to the contrary notwith- 
standing,) is said, with great plausibility, to be Plantar leone (platd 
(fix) the lion), in allusion to the arms of Venice. In Italian, Panta- 
lone is a masque representing a Venetian (" spezie di maschera rap- 
presentante il Veneziano.") Tlie Academy cites Michelangelo 
Buonaroti (the Younger) in La Flera. 

24. — P. 20G. It cost me dear then. It tvas devilish hitter, etc.] 
Or, "Pleasantry in my mouth — but devilish bitter, etc." 

25. — P. 208. — Rather damn ourselves, etc.] Or, if prefcn-ed, 
though it is not so characteristic in the situation: 

" Eather our own folly. 
To fancy that we trod on solid ground, 
"While grinning at our neighbor's floor of glass." 

The Stage sometimes strains at gnats, and dara:i in such a place 
(since thrice repeated) miglit bo one of them. 



THE DOUBLE DECEIT 261 



26. — P. 210. — what was perilous to reveal.'] Perhaps, consider- 
ing the reason why Aloise uttered the cry, as indicated by the 
exclamation below, "0 fatal slip!" (i.e. of the hps, as respected 
Gismonda^s secret,) it might be better to read, — "wliat he gladly 
would conceal." 

27. — P. 210. I did. — fatal slip! etc.] Otherwise, and more 
directly intelligible, but not so cliaracteristic, nor so elevated in 
language: 

" Did I ? — T'nhappy error ! 

UtSur. Said I risrht?" 

28. — P. 220. Lored. (muttered.) It yet may he.] The misfortunes 
of the Foscari and the implacable hatred of the Loredani are well 
known to the readers of Byron. — It may be of interest to subjoin 
the following news-item cut from one of our journals a year after 
the composition of this drama. The Double Deceit was written, 
1855-6, {Dec. 4, 1855 — Jan. 21, 1856); the scrap is marked in the 
margin simply 1856-7. 

" In one of his letters from Venice, M. von Hacklander says that the illus- 
trious family of the Foscaris is extinct. A few years ago two old ladies of the 
name inhabited a sm.all room in the family palace, and the last male scion of 
the Foscaris not long since died as an inferior member of a traveling histrionic 
company." 

29. — P. 234. Take care of the columns I] A Venetian proverb 
and local superstition. Guardatevi del inter colonnio ! "Beware of 
the space between the columns!" — because of the purpose to 
which anciently the place was put, viz. the beheading of criminals. 
Marin Faliero, when elected Doge, being unable to land at the 
usual place because of the tide, was forced to pass between the 
pillars. And the people remembered the omen, when he was after- 
wards beheaded. 



262 NOTES TO THE DOUBLE DECEIT 



30. — P. 235. I wish Iliad them hound upon a plank, etc.] Said 
to be the mode of drowning criminals. 

31. — P. 239. {luhich from its 2}rirnte nature, etc.)] The whole of 
this parenthesis to be omitted on the Stage. 

32. — P. 251. Either just or, etc.] The present received pronun- 
ciation of either vaay make it advisable to substitute "Or just or, 
etc." 

33. — P. 252. And so a wedding meetly ends our 2olaij.'\ Here the 
Curtain may fall. All that follows is an addition made subsequently 
(January 22) to this, the original conclusion of the piece, and may 
by a caviling disposition be considered Impertinent. It was made, 
to give Giidietta and Cassandra, who are really important and 
pleasant characters in the drama, an opportunity to say their say. 
Tlie most serious objection to it (to me, but not to the Stage, which 
scarcely knows what verisimilitude or what nature is in our English 
drama) is on the score of probability. Tlie parties would hardly 
remain in presence of the Senate, to gratify two saucy waiting- 
maids, even if these were likely to retain their smartness on such 
an occasion. The option, to admit or to reject, is with the Theatre. 

34. — P. 253. 'Ks very likehj, child; etc.] Or, omitting Gismon- 
da's part • 

Chapl. 'T is very likL-ly, child; I am getting old. 
yioro. Come, drop the b.iizc ; our business here is o'er. 



NOTICE 

The two pieces hero ijresentecl are of a series of nineteen, 
which it is proposed to collect into four or five volumes, and the 
whole of which, with two exceptions, are completed and ready for 
the press ; namely : 

Calvary; Virginia; Bianca Capdh; Ugo da Este; Uberto; The 
Last Mandeville; Matilda of Denmark; Meleager; Falamedes ; 
Qinone; Pyn-hxis, Son of Achilles ; Don Sancho Ortiz. Tragedies. 

The Silier Head; The Double Deceit; The Montanini; The Mag- 
neiizer ; The Prodigal ; The Double-dealer ; The Dead Alive. Come- 
dies. 

The first two on the list have recently been pubhshed. The 
next to appear will be Bianca Capello and Ugo da Este, forming 
with Calvary and Virginia the First Volume of Tragedies. 



1& 



..:? 



